


Nightsong

by Fiorebambina



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Psychic Abilities, Secret Identity, but he doesn't know yet, definitely some gratuitous smut, everything is canon until Jon becomes Lord Commander, im bad at tagging, it starts kind of basic but then u realize everyones keeping secrets, its fiction so i can do whatever i want, jon snow is lord commander - Freeform, love story but more dramatic than that
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-15
Packaged: 2020-03-27 14:54:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19015180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fiorebambina/pseuds/Fiorebambina
Summary: “May I ask,” he began cautiously, “how a Southern lady found herself bound to a horse nearly a thousand leagues from the Wall?” Her breath hitched in her throat. She looked over at the Lord Commander helplessly. He seemed to silently understand her resistance. “Your name, at least? If it pleases you.”-While serving as Lord Commander of the Night's watch, Jon Snow meets a mysterious high born Dornish woman.





	1. Dornish Red

It was cold in the North. Everyone had said so. The wind pin-pricked her cheeks as she fought to steady the horse she sat upon. Fighting every desire to turn around, find the nearest port, and return home, she tightened her grip on the reins and persisted.   
She had been reminded constantly that the Kingsroad was no place for a woman to be traveling alone, but she took comfort in the stillness. The incontestable, sweetest sound when traveling alone is the sound of silence. She sat upon her horse and listened to the crows overhead, the constant patting of hooves against freshly fallen snow, and her own heartbeat climbing up her throat.  
The silence didn’t last long. Her horse grew skittish and the familiar sound of beating hooves raced through the looming forest in front of her. In a matter of seconds she was surrounded. The first man she noticed was older, nearing the age her father would be if he were still living. He drew ragged breaths as he removed the linen cloths covering his face. His face was covered in too many scars to count, his nose crooked from being repeatedly broken. His robes were in tatters, much like the other men. She fought to maintain her balmy demeanor as the older man dismounted his horse.  
“Did your father teach ye to travel alone?” The older man croaked in a sickeningly sweet tone. She instinctively backed her horse away, refusing to meet the man’s eye. One of the younger men, dressed in all black, drew his sword as he rifled through the pack strapped to her horse. Her body stiffened, counting the falling snow flakes that landed around her. The younger man tossed a wine skin from her pack to the older man, who removed the cork with his teeth, and sucked down the remaining liquid.  
“A Dornish red!” He exclaimed. “Doubt it’s as sweet as ye are.” She ignored the comment, dismounting her horse, and calmly placing her left hand at her hip. Hidden beneath her cloak was a silver dagger.  
As the men continued to rifle through her things, she noticed that the younger man must have been a deserter of the Night’s Watch. Her mother had told her countless stories of the brave men entrusted with guarding the realm. This man did not look like the men she had pictured in the stories. He looked like a boy; matted hair, browning teeth, a demeanor suggesting he couldn’t kill even if death were looking him in the face and waiting for him to strike.   
The other young man grabbed her by the arm as the rest began to load her belongings into their packs. “Do we take the whore?” “Ye shouldn’t have to ask, ye inbred bastard.”  
Her heartbeat quickened as her fingertips wrapped around the hidden dagger. Just before she could remove it from it’s hilt, a rope swept around her body, binding her arms to her sides. The older man tossed her on the back of the deserter’s horse as if she were a corpse. She bit down on her lip until it drew blood.   
The men didn’t speak much. Gruff comments passed between the younger men occasionally, but nothing she could comprehend. Her head was swimming. The men had taken her down a path she had not mapped out. She couldn’t reach her dagger, and the sun was setting. Knowing any chance of escape was futile, she forced herself into a restless sleep.

-

She awoke several hours later, stiff as death, strapped to the younger man’s sickly horse like a sack of barley. She lifted her sore neck and squinted ahead through tired eyes.  
There were no more trees in front of her, but rather a sight she had heard more tales of than she could count. In the distance she saw the Wall. Larger than she could have imagined, the border stretched across the horizon, towering easily 700 leagues above man. She had seen men who could change their faces as easily as she could change her stockings, pyres that burned without cessation for weeks on end, but she had never seen anything quite like the view before her.  
She wanted to cry out, shake herself free, but she couldn’t. She knew her destination could not be Castle Black, as the man inches from her would be killed instantly if he even neared the castle. She wanted so badly to ask where she was being taken, but she wouldn’t get the chance.   
The familiar sound of pounding hooves nearly startled her off the horse. From the angle she was bound, all she could see was the sky. The horse had bolted in the opposite direction; she could no longer see the Wall. She heard shouting and steel clashing. She prayed to break her bounds and fight her way free.   
Staring helplessly at the sky, the horse repeatedly bucked as it no longer had room to escape. She could tell that they were surrounded by mounted men. She clung as best she could to the horse, and listened intently.  
“Manderly.” A thick voice spoke distantly. A set of hooves crunched through the snow as she heard the voice drawing near. “Didn’t take you as a man who would desert his brothers.” The young man whose horse she was strewn upon dismounted. “Aye, me lord, was never me intention to do so--” He choked out nervously. She could hear his voice dripping with fear. “Intended to or not, you did.” The thick voice stated solemnly, but matter-of-fact. “Take him, bring the others.”  
Her breath quickened as the men she assumed to be Brothers of the Night’s Watch dismounted to assess the situation. “They’ve got a girl.” A softer voice quipped. She could feel the binds around her being cut away, and she almost wept at the range of motion she regained. She saw the three men who had taken her, bound, forced to walk behind the mounted Brothers.   
“My lady, are you hurt?” The man with the thick voice asked her, removing his glove and placing a tender hand on the startled, sickly horse. He seemed to be in command of the other men, but was not forceful. She could see plainly on his face that he took no pleasure in bringing deserters to justice.  
“I am not, ser.” She said meekly, accent giving her away immediately. The man with the thick voice turned to his brothers “Take them to Castle Black. They’ll answer for their crimes in time.” The procession of black brothers began as he turned his head to face her again. “I will ride with you. We’ll take you to the castle and have the Maester see to you. And i’m no ser.”   
She nodded graciously as she mounted the sickly horse, following who she presumed to be the First Ranger closely. Much like the deserter, he was quite young. He wore a sharp look on his face that was purposefully uninviting. She wanted to tell him that this was not part of her plan and that she needed to be escorted back to where she had been taken, but she could not find it in her to speak. Instead, she studied the man entrusted to guide her.   
His eyes were dark and soft, as if they’d seen more than he’d ever intended to, decorated by a fading scar that began just above his brow and ended at the top of his cheek. His lips were full and he kept them in a permanent, pensive position. Atop his head rested a messy pile of curls, which he continuously struggled to keep out of his field of vision while riding.   
Once she began to retain a sense of clarity, she rode closer to the man. She was angry. Angry about feeling angry. Angry that even the clearest intention can dissolve in moments. She kept thinking about her plan, and how every step thus far had been destroyed.   
The man looked over at her ever-so-often, seemingly racking his brain for something, anything to say to this poor woman. He could not find anything appropriate. 

Some time passed, and her anger began to fade. She could see the Wall getting closer, though the vast expanse of land between her and it seemed to grow larger. She looked over at the man again, and decided it best to be polite. “What shall I call the man who saved my life, then?” She said stiffly, with genuine kindness peeking out from behind it’s locked door.  
He mustered a sore smile. “Jon Snow. Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.” Her eyes widened. “I mean no disrespect, my lord, but what is the Lord Commander doing hunting down a deserter?” The muscles in his face relaxed at her attempt to make conversation. He shrugged. “We’ve not many men left. The last lot to leave the castle haven’t been seen since the last moon.” She nodded silently.   
“May I ask,” he began cautiously, “how a southern lady found herself bound to a horse nearly a thousand leagues from the Wall?” Her breath hitched in her throat. She looked over at the Lord Commander helplessly. He seemed to silently understand her resistance. “Your name, at least? If it pleases you.”  
She forced the same kind of sore smile he had flashed her moments before. “Alana Blackmont.” His brows furrowed as he racked the surname through his mind. He was almost sure she was from Dorne, initially by her appearance, but confirmed by her accent. A Dornish woman was easy to spot in the North. Cascades of thick, long, brown curls framed her face. Her skin was nearly three shades darker than his own, and her brown eyes appeared golden in the sunlight. “Blackmont,” he murmured. “Black vulture with a babe in it’s talons.”   
She smiled again, genuinely this time. “Are you quite familiar with the noble houses of Dorne, my lord?” He cocked his head, implying that he was no expert, but familiar. “The maester at my keep, as a boy, made sure we knew every sigil from Dorne to The Riverlands.” She nodded appreciatively at his candor, wondering which noble family he came from, since he’d had his own maester. She then remembered his surname, and found it no use to ask such personal questions.

Jon Snow was stunned by the entire situation. A noble woman, from Dorne no less, alone in the bitter Northern winter.


	2. Fair as the Sun

The rest of the ride to Castle Black went on as pleasant as could be. Ice crystals formed in Alana’s hair as she nearly began to forget what it ever felt like to be warm.   
The Lord Commander didn’t say much else. She was pleased at his courtesy, though she fondly appreciated the silence that followed.   
“Just up there.” He said gruffly, through his thick, Northern accent. As they rode around a large stone cairn, she saw the gate. Castle Black, much like the deserter, was nothing like she had expected from her mother’s stories.   
The wooden frame holding the gate had begun to splinter, and as they rode through, she spied an empty courtyard. No handsome, brave men sparring, warring for small insignificant victories. No one at all, save a few stewards.  
“I thought women weren’t allowed at the Wall.” She mused out loud, mainly to herself. The Lord Commander uncharacteristically chuckled in response. “Would you have us leave you in the snow with a horn of ale?” The beginnings of a smile danced upon her face. “I don’t care much for snow, or ale, but a bit of wine...well.” She trailed off impishly. “That’s done then.” He replied kindly, motioning toward the only other living soul in the courtyard. “My steward, Olly.” He introduced. The boy looked no older than twelve, if he had even passed that nameday yet. She wondered how he had found himself at the Wall. “Show Lady Blackmont to the chamber in the tower. Have wine and bread sent up” he instructed the boy sternly, before turning back to Alana. “I shall have supper and a bath drawn for you soon, I should not imagine you’d see fit to dine with the likes of us.” She smiled, “I’ve seen worse.” He nodded pleasantly as he excused himself. “My Lady.”

She looked down at the young boy before glancing up to follow the Lord Commander with her eyes. “Thank you.” She called out meekly, unsure if he could hear her at all. He turned, nodded as if to say “you’re welcome” and continued on.   
She followed the steward up splintering stairs, past the grimaces of the remaining builders, and into a dark, stone tower. The wind howled like a wolf in heat as she ascended the winding steps. Once settled in the chambers so kindly prepared for her by the child, she was finally alone.  
After imbibing the sweet wine and hard bread, she began to think about her plan. She had known, before embarking, that everything to come would happen for a reason. Hours riding, dwelling on the ruin of her aforementioned plans had created this well of anger in the pit of her stomach. Now that her stomach was filled with true sustenance, the anger had disappeared all together. She found herself wondering what purpose this detour would serve her, until her stomach began to rumble again.   
Hours had passed as quickly as minutes. The sweet wine and bread were gone, and the young steward had not returned with supper yet. She took this as an opportunity to collect herself. Her dress had miraculously remained intact, though her cloak had seen better days. Her long, brown curls hung wet and limp around her face. She sat by the fire and pulled her hair into a long plait. She refused to look into the flames. 

  
  
  


Once satisfied with the state of her visage, Alana exited the dull, dark chambers. Hungry, she sought to find the hall where the Brothers would sup. She counted the number of steps it took from her room to the base of the tower. Seventy-two. She’d count again on her way back up, she told herself.   
Once at the base of the tower, she found herself on the riser above the courtyard. Unlike earlier, the courtyard was full. Black brothers stood around as the Lord Commander drew his sword. Alana stopped in her tracks. She saw the deserter, weeping like a babe torn from his mother’s arms. She drew herself closer to the bannister, and looked down at the scene.   
No one had noticed her standing there, and she preferred it that way.

 

“You understand your crime?” The Lord Commander asked soberly. The deserter continued to weep, and plead for his life. Alana saw that look on Jon Snow’s face again. The look that said he took no pleasure in bringing deserters to justice. “The consequence for desertion is death.” He continued.  
Alana watched with a lethal combination of disdain and intrigue. She had seen men die before, but had never witnessed a proper execution. In Dorne, women were fighters, trained since childhood to wield a dagger, bow, spear, or anything else they could get their hands on. In the North, women were allowed no such experiences. 

“Any last words?” The Lord Commander said, his voice nearly a whisper, but thick with honor. The deserter did not respond, and for the first time since she had made his unfortunate acquaintance, the man was silent. The Lord Commander lifted his longsword, and brought it down in one swift motion. Immediately, he turned on his heels and exited the courtyard.   
Unlike Jon Snow, Alana could not bring herself to look away. Crimson pools of blood mixed with the mud beneath their boots as the Black Brothers collected the body. She wondered where they would take him, where he’d be buried, and if they’d say words over him. Once cognizant of her thoughts, she scolded herself for pitying the man who had not only deserted his sworn brothers, but captured her as well.

She remained on the riser for some time, waiting for the brothers to exit the courtyard so she could wander freely, without the harsh gaze of the men she almost wished she feared. Looking around, she realized how young most of the men were. Younger even than the Lord Commander. She pitied all of these men.

-

Finally pulling herself away, she found the mess hall. Slipping in through the back, she was awarded a view of Castle Black’s finest. There was something oddly reminiscent of home. The sounds of drunken men singing, metal scraping against plates, and the smell of wine reminded her distantly of the feasts her family would hold. She shut her eyes tightly and imagined the face of her father. Before she could fall too deeply into thought, the sound of a familiar song broke her from her memory. 

 

_ The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun, _

_ and her kisses were warmer than spring. _

_ But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel, _

_ and its kiss was a terrible thing. _

 

“Clever” she thought sardonically to herself. It was clear that her appearance in the hall had been noted, and she tried, with no avail, to slip away. As she made her way to the exit, she noticed the Lord Commander stepping off of the deis where he had been previously sat.   
Within moments, he had found her. “I apologize for the delay in having your supper sent to you. I kept my steward longer than intended, My Lady.” His face wore the same strained expression as before, unchanged as if posing for a portrait. “No apologies are necessary, my lord. I had left to explore before your steward ever got to me, i’m afraid.”   
Before Jon Snow could respond, a group of brothers at a table nearby had begun snickering, strings of profanities leaving their mouths at the sight of a woman at the Wall. “Walk with me, if it pleases you?” Jon Snow implored, wanting desperately to avoid a scene. Alana accepted the Lord Commander’s request and followed him into the kitchen. It was empty, as the stewards had finally been allowed to join the rest of their men for supper.   
He rummaged through the mess of a kitchen until he produced a bowl of steaming broth, bread, and a flagon of wine. He set the food down at a small preparation table for her. She flushed at the kind gesture, and graciously accepted. She silently watched as he ladled himself a bowl of broth as well. “No one will bother you here, My Lady. I’ll send for a man I trust to make sure of it.” He stated kindly, turning on his heels to leave. “Would you join me? My Lord? If it pleases you.” She said, sweetly mocking his polite demeanor.   
He looked at her incredulously as he sat down with her. She knew this was far from proper behavior, but she also knew that the Lord Commander was the only Brother who had shown her kindness since her arrival. The only person who had shown her kindness at all since her departure.   
They ate in silence for a few moments, narrowly avoiding each other’s gaze. It was nice to feel the presence of another. Though they exchanged few words, she allowed herself to enjoy the companionship. For the first time all day, her mind had quieted down.  
Jon Snow’s mind, on the other hand, was anything but quiet. He was reeling with the devastation of the execution. The words of his father, Lord Eddard Stark ringing in his ears, “the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.” He knew his actions were justified, but he would never allow himself to become complacent with it. 

And then he thought of the woman seated before him. _A great mystery_ , he thought to himself. He liked to think that rescuing this woman, saving her life even, would quell the ache that came with taking a life.   
Jon Snow knew all too well that the ache he experienced would linger. He tried to distract himself from such things. He wondered if she would ever tell him her story, but he recognized the obvious power dynamic between the two, and knew she’d most likely keep to herself. He also wondered how long she’d stay. The last woman he had known, he had loved, but as with any small pleasure in Jon Snow’s life, she was taken from him.   
“Lord Commander” she began sheepishly “I appreciate all you have done for me, but I should be on my way soon.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid that might not be possible for a time. You saw the snow falling earlier.” His voice thick with feigned regret. “Forgive me, but does it not always snow in the North?” She continued in her sheepish tone. Jon let out a hearty laugh; the last thing she expected of him. “Not all the time. There’s a storm coming. I suppose Winter is finally here.” She looked at him as if to expect another laugh, or retraction, but neither came. He was serious.   
“I’ve never seen snow before.” She admitted, slowly sipping the sweet wine provided for her. It was nothing like the wine she had known in Dorne. She hoped the man who had captured her had enjoyed the last of it.  
A subtle smile crept onto Jon Snow’s face. “The North is all i’ve ever known. Snow, rain, it’s all the same to me.” 

Alana closed her eyes and remembered what real rain felt like. “In Dorne,” she began hesitantly, “it only rains when the sun is shining. It feels so warm against your skin, you could bathe in it. The children rush to play in it. Even the handmaids avoid their duties to run through it.” Jon smiled at the idea. “And when it rains, it rains for days. The flowers bloom overnight and everything is so green. The old septas say that with the rain, comes true love. They say that on hot summer nights, lovers will escape their keeps and race to kiss their beloved in the rain for good luck.”

It was Jon Snow’s turn now to close his eyes. He imagined himself in the warm, Dornish rain, surrounded by colorful flowers and green trees with sweet fruits. Unfortunately, the reverie was just that, and the howling wind snapped him back to reality. “I was born in Dorne.” was all he could muster in response.   
She wasn’t offended by his disregard of the anecdote, but rather understood his sad, secret desire to experience what she had told him. The response he did give her, however, was certainly surprising. “I thought you were a true child of the North?” She remarked lightheartedly.   
“Aye. The North is all i’ve ever known. My father brought me home to the North as a babe. He went South during the rebellion and came back with me.” He spoke nonchalantly, but Alana could feel the pain in his words. “Ah, Snow.” She murmured softly. “Sand wouldn’t suit you.”  
He was surprised to find himself smiling. “Would it not?” Her muscles relaxed once she knew he wasn’t offended by the remark. “You’ve got the face and the soul of a Northman, why shouldn’t you have the name to match?” “I haven’t much of a name at all, really.” He shrugged. 

Alana instantly regretted forcing him to discuss something that clearly perturbed him. She racked her brain for something to say that would ease his mind.   
“My mother is a bastard.” She replied truthfully. She studied him as his eyes darted up to look at her. If he were a wolf, she supposed, his ears would have perked up. “It’s a complicated story, really.” He nodded, understanding all too well how complicated families were. 

Alana wasn’t sure how much time had passed. She and the Lord Commander had well finished their meals, and it wasn’t until the flame of the candle beside them began to reach the base, that she realized how tired she was.

As if reading her mind, Jon Snow announced that he must retire for the evening. Though her body ached from exhaustion, she couldn’t find herself ready to finish the pleasant conversation. “Lord Commander, would you escort me to my chambers. I’m unsure of how I made my way here.” She admitted sheepishly. 

Jon nodded understandingly, recognizing that she probably did not want to pass the insolent men he called his Brothers. As she gathered her bearings, he took a moment to notice how beautiful she was. He had never seen hair so long and soft looking, with curls even more defined than his own. Her brown eyes glowed honey and amber in the light of the nearly extinguished flame, and her surviving gown seemed to match perfectly. The smallest part of Jon Snow that allowed himself these thoughts instinctively quieted as she stood. He noticed her torn cloak, and made a mental note to fetch her a new one.   
She seemed rather content for someone who had nearly met her end earlier in the day. He admired her ability to appear calm to the core, even though he knew she had to be afraid. His father always said that the only time one can truly be brave is when they’re afraid. 

As they arrived in front of Alana’s chambers, there was a peaceful air of understanding between the two. It seemed obvious, to Jon, his desire for companionship in any form, and he almost wanted her to recognize it. It felt nice to talk to someone about something other than lumber, or missing rangers. He had nearly forgotten the man he had beheaded hours ago.   
As Alana said good night and closed the door behind her, she realized she had forgotten to count the steps up to her chambers again. She also realized, she no longer cared.  
  
  
  



	3. The Dagger

Jon Snow stood outside of Alana’s door for what felt like hours. In reality, he had been standing there for only a few moments. He descended the tower steps, body aching from the day, replaying the pleasant conversation over and over again in his head.

He knew that moments like this were hard to come by. His black brothers weren’t his biggest fans, he had three friends in the entire world, and he spent nearly every day alone. Sharing a warm conversation over a meal, with a woman no less, was something Jon Snow would never take for granted.  
Jon walked contemplatively through the empty courtyard. Blood stained the now-hardened mud on the ground, and he watched as dense, heavy snowflakes fell around him.

He couldn’t believe Alana had never seen snow before. 

  
The ground began to harden under his boots as he continued walking, endlessly, it seemed, to his chambers. Winter had come sooner than expected, and the men of the Night’s Watch knew it would be a difficult one. Jon, denying himself any selfish desire, had decided to speak with one of his three friends, Edd, about escorting Alana from the Wall before the storms got too bad. He hated himself for wanting her to stay. He hated the dull ache from lack of emotional stimulation that permeated his entire being. The worst part was that he remembered how it felt to be free of the ache. 

 

-

Alana couldn’t sleep. Castle Black was the most unfriendly space she had ever occupied. Her accommodations were less than pleasing, which could be expected from staying in a tower typically reserved for prisoners. She felt it appropriate that this is where she had found herself. 

  
Following hours of stoically staring at the stone ceiling, she decided to crawl toward the fire that she had been avoiding. Glancing into the flames, she saw a stone tower. A different stone tower than the one she currently occupied. She studied the image, and thought away the feeling in her stomach. She tried to understand why she had this gift; the ability to see things with meaning. Since she was a little girl, she could see things. Sometimes in the flames, other times in dreams. She rarely knew what any of it meant, but in the end, it always meant something. Sometimes she would paint the images she saw. She reminded herself to fetch her pack from the Rangers who had rescued her. She carried colorful inks with her wherever she went, just in case.

  
Her journey was based upon the only vision she had ever manifested that repeated itself. Snow. As a child, her dreams would fill with images of snow falling and covering absolutely everything in its path. Castles blanketed up to their spires in white. 

 

On her twentieth nameday, she had the vision again. This time, she was on horseback. She rode past a castle sat upon a mountain of snow, with the tattered banners of House Umber hanging from the windowsills. She, like the Lord Commander, had also been taught many house sigils. The seat of House Umber was at Last Hearth. The North. 

Though the love between she and her family was strong, her desire to leave Dorne was stronger. It had been her home, for a time, but she knew the visions would persist.

She tore apart the room looking for a quill and ink, or anything really, she could use to replicate the tower from the flames. She huffed in frustration until she had an idea. The wooden table by her bedside had seen better days. The wood was splintering already which made it easy to manipulate. She tore a shard of wood from the leg of the table and held it over the flames until the tip was charred. Only then did she realize she had no parchment. 

She walked over to the corner of the chamber and sat down on the cold stone floor. She took the charred wood and drew the image of the tower on the stone block closest to the ground.

Satisfied, she poured herself a goblet of wine and nursed it as she sat by the single window. Peering out, she spotted the Lord Commander. Her view of the courtyard from her tower was incredibly gratuitous, granted she managed to find something interesting to look at. He was sharpening his blade while exchanging words with another black brother, and she found herself missing his conversation.

  
He didn’t really have much to say, but she valued the companionship. 

While Alana prized silence, she liked to be around people. She grew up with three sisters and all of the children of Dorne as her playmates. Her mother felt it wise to expose her to all different types of people early on so she wouldn’t lose her sense of humanity. Sometimes she resented her mother for it, especially at times when her loneliness chilled her to the bone.

She decided she didn’t feel like being proper. After all, she was a woman at the Wall, everything she already did was improper. She then decided to descend the tower stairs and coincidentally run into the Lord Commander, who would no doubt provide her with some form of conversation.  
By the time she reached the base of the tower, she was out of breath. She luckily had managed to make it to the courtyard before the two men were finished speaking with each other. 

The man speaking with the Lord Commander caught her eye first, and subtly motioned to Jon. He excused himself and walked toward Alana with a strong, single brow raised.

She smiled sheepishly, as she had been doing all evening. “I couldn’t sleep, I found it appropriate to do my exploring at night so as to not disturb the hardworking men of the Night’s Watch.” Jon snorted. “My Lady, those men find themselves distracted when a butterfly lands on their armor.” 

For the first time in ages, she let out a real, full-belly laugh. He seemed pleased with himself. “It is quite cold, though. Is there any place warm I might explore?”

Jon swallowed the lump that was building in his throat. It was no secret that the Lord Commander’s chambers would be far more accommodating than any other at Castle Black, and he so badly wanted to suggest that. “The armory, My Lady, if it pleases you.” He spoke, disappointing himself. 

She smiled and reached beneath her cloak, brandishing her silver dagger. The Lord Commander put a gentle hand out, requesting to see the blade. “It could stand to be sharpened, though it doesn’t require it” she mused “I assume the armory is the place to do so?” He nodded impishly. “You’ll find a hundred whetstones in there. You’ll have the sharpest blade in the North.” She beamed with pride. The dagger was silver, the ornate hilt boasted sapphires and rubies, followed by a Valyrian steel blade. One of the last remaining bits of forged Valyrian steel left. It had been a gift from her father.    
  
“My only question” the Lord Commander began slowly “is why a Dornish noble woman carries a Valyrian steel blade.” He phrased it more as a sentence than a question, and for a moment, Alana wondered if he was jealous. 

 

“My father was given a Valyrian steel longsword from his father before him. My father was not keen on sword fighting, so he melted down the blade. From it he forged daggers for my sisters and I. He had a Valyrian steel spear forged for himself. He warned me that if the North ever reached the South, I would need it.” She trailed off.

Though he knew nothing of her father, he knew what the man had meant. He knew that Alana did not. 

“Aye, your father sounds like quite a man.” Was all Jon could reply, still examining the blade.  “He was.” His eyes left the dagger and lifted to meet hers. “Mine was as well.” She smiled sympathetically at him, and for the first time, maintained eye contact. “Who was he?” 

Jon gave her that incredulous look again. It was refreshing to be looked at as something other than the unfortunate bastard of Winterfell, a label which seemed to follow him to the Wall. “My father was Ned Stark. He was the most honorable man I ever knew.” 

Alana’s heart caught in her throat. She knew all about Ned Stark. The Dornish people had always maintained a subtle fondness for the Starks. After all, the enemy of a Lannister is a friend of Dorne. The anecdote the Lord Commander had shared with her earlier, about his coming North made sense now. She knew about the abduction of Lyanna Stark, and how Robert and Ned fought side by side in the Rebellion.    
  
“Your father was an honorable man. And a true friend to Dorne.” She replied, placing a gloved hand on his shoulder. He shuddered at the touch and she removed her hand delicately. He feigned a smile and led her to the armory.    
  


He carefully watched her run her slender fingers over the forged steel. Blades lined the walls of the sad excuse for an armory. She was fascinated by the array of weapons. Her first choice would always be a spear. A whip following closely behind. Like her father, she had seen swords as a coward’s weapon, but upon looking at the glimmering steel, she decided that she was allowed to disagree with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If i didn't end this chapter there it would literally go on forever. The next chapter will continue in the armory.


	4. Eyes by Fire

As Alana continued to browse the weapons, she remembered her pack. “Could I have my pack returned to me before I retire for the evening?” Jon swallowed hard. “I brought it to my chambers so I would remember to return it. I’ll have it delivered when the sun rises.”

Alana bit her lip, desperate to recreate the image from the flames on proper parchment. “If it wouldn’t be too much trouble, might I take it from you tonight?” 

The Lord Commander’s eyes scanned the armory, trying to find a reasonable way to say no, so as to remain proper. “Yes, My Lady. If you’d accompany me, I’ll retrieve it for you.”  _ Fuck _ he thought to himself.

Alana flashed a smile and nodded as she followed the Lord Commander, forgetting all about her dagger, and the hundred whetstones Jon Snow had promised her. Jon thought of the whetstone he had in his pocket from earlier.

The walk to the Lord Commander’s chambers was peacefully quiet. Alana observed the serene lack of activity within the castle, and simultaneously observed the man at the helm of the entire operation. She noted that he appeared permanently uncomfortable, as if everything happening around him at any given time was inconvenient. It bothered and interested her incredibly.   
“My Lady, if you’d wait here.” He requested politely as they arrived at his door. “Might I trouble you for some wine? I’m a bit dry.” She responded immediately, wondering why she had said that at all. The Lord Commander gave her a strained yet endearing nod as he opened the doors to his chamber. He made sure to subtly glance the hall to ensure no one had seen him.

The Lord Commander’s chambers were much warmer than Alana’s, in every sense of the word. The stone windows were draped in deep red fabrics, the fireplace larger than hers, radiating a noticeable amount of warmth, and a much larger bed decorated in warm furs.   
The Lord Commander stood at his desk, pouring her a cup of wine. He had not said a word since opening the doors. She sat down at the desk and watched as the Lord Commander removed his heavy cloak, before following suit, seemingly forgetting the reason they were there at all.   
She sipped the wine and took a moment to briefly observe the man seated before her. She hadn’t noticed how handsome he was before.

“Are you enjoying your stay at the Wall?” Jon implored sardonically. “If I had a room like this, I might.” She teased, noticeably changing the strained expression on Jon Snow’s face. “Well hopefully we’ll be able to get you back to your own room soon,” he began, reaching for a sheet of parchment. “Shall I write to your family and let them know you’re well?”   
Her muscles stiffened with discomfort. “I’d rather you didn’t. I wouldn’t want to worry them.” He nodded as if to say he understood, but she knew he didn’t.   
The two shared a short, uncomfortable silence before Jon changed the subject. “What is it in your pack that you’re so desperate for in the middle of the night?” 

“You ask a lot of questions, Lord Commander.”

“Just Jon.” He replied sheepishly.   
“You ask a lot of questions, _Just Jon_.” He shook his head and chuckled, reaching under his desk to retrieve her pack.   
She reached for it and pulled out her set of inks. Jon’s eyes seemed to glimmer as he stared at the colorful, _expensive_ ink. “I recreate my dreams.” She said simply. He reached for one of the bottles, a beautiful Indigo, and turned it over in his hand. “Here’s one.” She spoke hesitantly, reaching into the pack and sliding a colorful portrait across the table. Jon held it between his fingers as he studied the image. A blonde boy on a funeral slab, dressed in ornate robes, with stones over his eyes. Beside him sat a golden crown. “The boy king” Jon murmured with a twinge of confusion. 

“Sometimes,” she began hesitantly, unsure of her sudden disclosure “I dream things before they happen.” Jon continued to finger the parchment, in awe at her talent, and surprised by her confession. He was an incredibly intense man. She waited for him to laugh, or contest her, but he didn’t. Instead, he handed the page back, requesting to see more. 

Alana cocked her head silently as she produced another image. This one she had been unable to distinguish. It was a mountain, blanketed in snow, shaped like an arrowhead. “I like this one.” He complimented, running a gentle finger over the ornate ink. “What is it?” “I’m afraid I don’t know. I’ve had many dreams about the North, with no resolution. I suppose that’s why I’m here.” As she finished her statement, she produced the image of Last Hearth. “The Umbers…” he trailed off “haven’t sat at Last Hearth in some time.” She nodded. “That’s where I was traveling to. I did not know the keep would be empty.” “Aye” Jon responded, seeing the fervent disappointment in her eyes that he had seen many times since her arrival. 

“What were you hoping to find? If I might ask.” She chuckled “You haven’t stopped asking.” He blushed in response. “But I don’t mind answering. I suppose I was hoping to find a reason, for everything. My mother, her mother, and her mother before her were all seers, like myself. Years were spent trying to understand why, to no avail. I’ve been haunted by the idea that all of these visions are trying to tell me something, but I understand so few. I supposed if I traveled to the site of my visions, I would find answers.”

“Maybe you aren’t supposed to have the answers.” Jon mused “Maybe your gift is to interpret what you allow yourself to.” For the first time since they had met, the Lord Commander seemed pleasant, tender even. The light from the fire highlighted the scars on his face and she counted them silently. “I suppose you might be right, Jon Snow.” He swallowed hard at her use of his name.   
“I don’t understand how you’d want to leave Dorne. It sounds like a dream.” Jon spoke longingly. “You left Dorne as a babe.” She teased before continuing. “I didn’t actually leave from Dorne.” she sighed. “I haven’t been home in several years.” Jon furrowed his brows and looked at her, waiting for her to disclose more.

She abhorred the fact that she couldn’t stop telling the Lord Commander her secrets. 

“My mother sent me to the shadowlands of Asshai, to study with the Red Priestesses.” Jon’s eyes widened, almost uncomfortably. “But the Red God is no God of mine.” He exhaled. 

All of a sudden Jon noticed _her_ discomfort. The whole time he had known her, despite his intrigue, he had found her to be stiff, uninviting, and confusing. He resented the fact that it took so long for him to realize why.   
“I’ve heard bits about the Red Priestesses. I’ve heard they can raise a man from the dead and produce flames from their palms.” He was completely serious. Alana began to laugh and it seemed like she would never stop. A huge grin slid onto Jon’s face. “I suppose that isn’t true then, it it?” “Not to my knowledge.” Her response left the two laughing in comfortable silence. 

The more he laughed, the more handsome she found him. His face was quite pleasant to look at when he didn’t seem to be in pain. His eyes looked much lighter by fire, and softer. She reached out and placed her hand atop his. He drew a quick breath, but allowed himself to meet her eyes. “Thank you, Lord Commander---Jon, for everything you’ve done for me. My face hasn’t hurt from laughing in some time.” He smiled in response, the weight of her hand on his feeling heavier than lead. She removed her hand and collected her images into a neat pile, before sliding them back into her pack. She peered under her lids subtly to look at Jon, who appeared disappointed. 

“It’s nice to share a conversation with someone new.” He admitted bashfully. “I quite enjoy your conversation.” Alana replied, her mind swimming from the wine, and for some reason, the man in front of her.

He stood from the chair and reached into his makeshift wardrobe, producing a brand new cloak. He handed it to Alana shyly, and studied her reaction. “It’s nothing fancy, but it should do the job.” She felt her cheeks heat up. “Jon, that is incredibly kind of you.” She drawled in nearly a whisper. 

Before she could consciously acknowledge what she was doing, she took a step closer to the Lord Commander. She swore she could see his heart beating through his thick shirt. She slowly placed a gentle hand on his arm, and looked up at him.   
Though his heart was threatening to burst from his chest, he did not pull away. He held her gaze pensively for a few moments, before boldly reaching to brush a curl from her face. Her cheeks blushed crimson, and her own heart began to speed up. _What is going on?_ She asked herself, as she reached to stroke his cheek in return. His eyelids fluttered at the contact, and she all of a sudden became all too aware of what is asked of a Black Brother.

She met his eyes again, gently drawing her hand away from his face. He caught it gently, and placed it on his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, he just studied her face. She felt extremely shy all of a sudden. 

He noticed her change in demeanor, and tenderly hooked an arm around her waist. She audibly gasped, and he instinctively found her eyes, to make sure what he had done was okay.   
His heart was in his throat, he felt dizzy. He felt as if all of his actions at the moment were completely involuntary.  

Alana leaned into his embrace as he tightened the arm around her waist. Her lips were so close to his that she could feel his breath on her skin. Before she could decide what to do, his lips gently brushed against hers, and she felt as if she might melt into the floor. 

He kissed her again, more firmly this time; the palm of his hand taking up almost her entire lower back. She moved a curious hand to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her, before slowly running her tongue along his bottom lip. She felt him shudder again. 

He then allowed her to deepen the kiss, walking her across the room, and gently leaning her up against the door. His hands absentmindedly found her hips as hers continued to fist in his hair.   
Before long, the two were nearly gasping for air, still clinging to each other. Jon felt the familiar aching heat building in his lower half, and he gently broke the kiss. He hated himself for it. 

She looked up at him before pressing a soft kiss to his clothed shoulder. Their eyes met again, and it was unspoken but obvious that neither expressed regret.

“You should get some sleep, My Lady.” he purred, still holding her hips in his hands. “Maybe you’re right” she breathed, smoothing her hands over his chest. He leaned in and placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Let me escort you back to the tower, My Lady.”  Her initial response took the form of a bashful kiss. “Just Alana.” She whispered against his lips, mimicking Jon’s earlier statement. “Alana.” He whispered softly into her hair. 

Jon regrettably pulled away, once again, and draped his cloak over his shoulders. He opened the door and led her back to the tower.

Once she were in her own bed, she wished so badly, to be in the bed of the Lord Commander. She forgot all about her inks and the stone tower in the flames. 


	5. The Spear, The Girl, and the Edge of the World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kind of filler but everything will eventually be relevant✨

Once again, Jon Snow found himself face to face with Alana’s closed door. He shut his eyes and sighed deeply before preparing for the descent. As he struggled to make sense of the evening, he wondered what Alana was thinking at this very moment.

She smelled of lavender and he felt intoxicated by the memory. He gripped the bannister firmly as he continued down the stairs, unconsciously digging his nails into the wooden bar. He didn’t even remember kissing her first, it was as if it just happened and he had no control over it. He kicked himself for it. He wanted so badly to turn around, race back up the tower steps, knock on her door, and make her his. He knew how dangerous this fantasy was, and he refused to allow himself to indulge any further, after all, he hardly knew her.

Alana, miraculously still unable to sleep, brushed a finger over her swollen lips. She missed the warmer flames of Jon’s chambers, the wine, and even him, though she refused to admit it. 

It had been some time since she had been kissed, and she could tell it had been even longer for him. Everytime she closed her eyes she swore she could still feel his hot breath on her neck, instinctively brushing her fingers over every spot Jon had previously nipped at. 

Everyone knew that men of the Night’s Watch were celibate. Though she knew there had to be brothers sneaking away to the nearest brothel in the night, she doubted Jon Snow was one of them.  _ Vows, _ she thought aloud,  _ my people would wage war if forbidden to make love. _

She flipped herself onto her stomach and buried her head in the stiff feather pillow. She desperately wanted to forget about her desires, and his hands. She attempted to distract herself by mentally counting the steps up to the tower, but failed miserably. When ascending the tower with the Lord Commander earlier, she so badly wanted to grab him by his cloak and have him take her right there on the steps. 

She grumbled to herself and squeezed her thighs together, attempting to quell the fiery ache within her. She wasn’t sure how long it took her to fall asleep, but Gods it felt good once she did.

 

-

 

When the first light of morning began to drip through the large, stone windows and into the Lord Commander’s chambers, Jon buried his face below the furs. For a moment, he couldn’t remember if his evening with Alana had been a dream or not. Only when he noticed that her pack was no longer beneath his desk, did he accept the fact that it had actually happened.

His heart felt heavy. The memory of the kiss reminded him of his first love, and if he didn’t have a myriad of tasks to complete, he may have wept about it. The memory of the kiss also made him selfishly long for more. 

He dressed quickly, thinking about the Valyrian steel dagger, and the painting of King Joffrey’s corpse. He found himself to be utterly terrified of her, all the while feeling himself pine for her. 

Jon slid his own Valyrian blade, Longclaw, into it’s sheath, and exited his chambers. He normally had his morning meal sent to his chambers, but he decided to meander to the hall where his brothers would eat. He wondered if he would run into Alana, who, after all, was incredibly nosy. 

The blanket of snow in the courtyard had risen by at least two inches during the night. The toe of his boots disappeared entirely as he walked. He couldn’t understand how everything at the castle seemed to carry on normally, while he felt as if his entire world had been turned upside down. 

Shaking snow from his cloak, he entered the hall and sat in his uncomfortably public seat. His eyes scanned the hall and he concluded that Alana was nowhere to be found, much to his chagrin. 

He ate his meal silently, avoiding the eyes of his brothers, and preparing to avoid the imminent demands they would begin to make of him once the meal ended. He hated being in control of anything, just as he hated being the center of attention. At the Wall, however, he was both.    
Once his meal concluded, he was tasked with overseeing the training of new recruits. There weren’t many, but the recent men sent to the Wall were a scraggly, untrained bunch. Ser Allister, a former Knight of house Thorne, served as the resident Master-at-Arms. He was a hard, bitter man, fervently disliked by nearly every young recruit, and the Lord Commander himself. 

Jon preferred to oversee the training, stepping in whenever he saw fit to aid new recruits, much to Thorne’s dismay. 

Thorne was particularly prickly this morning, barking commands at the terrified young boys hardly able to lift a longsword let alone defend themselves. “You want to call yourself a  _ man _ of the Night’s Watch? I bet the girl could defend herself better.” He snarled, gesturing to Alana, who had been watching from behind a wooden pillar. Jon smirked as he observed below, knowing full well she probably could. 

“I’d wager that, Ser.” Alana boldly responded. Jon inched closer to the steps leading down from the riser, praying he wouldn’t need to get between she and Thorne.

“Even little girls receive training in the South,” he continued, patronizing the mess of recruits “let’s see what this one can do.”

Alana’s eyes widened as the recruits turned to look at her, some scornfully, others with intrigue. She requested a spear as her weapon, eliciting stifled laughs from a few recruits. Those laughs were met with a sharp glare from Thorne. 

One of the brothers aiding Ser Allister retrieved the weapon for her from the armory, and Alana gripped it with keen familiarity as she approached Thorne. “Rivers,” he called, motioning for one of the recruits to step forward “disarm her.” 

“Ser I cannot fight a lady.”

“This is hardly a fight you speck of pickled piss.” Thorne spat.

 

Jon winced as he watched the man lift his sparring sword at Alana. She effortlessly deflected, instantly disarming the young man, and throwing him to the ground. Jon’s jaw dropped. 

“You let a girl knock you the ground with the tail end of a spear. In skirts. I should have a raven sent to your father and let him know his noble bastard is just as pathetic now as he was back in the shit hole you call the Riverlands.”

Jon winced at Thorne’s comments. He recalled receiving identical treatment when he first arrived at the Wall. Alana said nothing, she stood firmly, spear in hand, still unaware of the Lord Commander’s presence. 

“Anyone else afraid of her?” Thorne inquired, his patience wearing thin. “No one? Get the  _ fuck _ out of this yard.” Upon dismissing the recruits, Thorne turned to Alana. “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting,  _ My Lady. _ ” He spoke sourly. “Alana of House Blackmont, Ser.” Before he could open his mouth to respond, Jon Snow had quietly approached them. “Lord Commander.” Thorne mumbled bitterly as he exited.

“I don’t think i’ve ever seen Ser Allister appear to be impressed before.” Jon noted, flashing his signature look of incredulity. “My skill for fighting appears to be a magic trick in the North.” He chuckled. “At least now you can assume no one will bother you. Did you see the look on the lad’s face when you knocked him to the ground?”

“I’ll never forget it.” She beamed.

 

Jon shuffled uncomfortably, unsure of what to do now. Last night he held her in an intimate embrace, and today he couldn’t seem to remember how to do anything.

“Might I ask something of you, Lord Commander?” she batted her eyelashes affectionately. He cocked his head and raised a single brow. “Jon” she corrected with the hint of a smile on her lips. 

“Anything you’d like.”

 

“I’d like to see the top of the Wall.” 

 

All Jon could do was stare at her for a moment. She wasn’t the first woman he had stood atop the wall with. He felt as if he were betraying his first love, but he knew there was no use chasing a ghost. “It’s quite high, won’t you be afraid?”

It was her turn to stare at him now. 

 

“You’re right, that was a stupid thing to say.” He chuckled, walking toward the lift that would take them atop the towering Wall. She quickened her pace to catch up with him, playfully teasing him for running away from her.

He hated himself for being so awkward. 

 

“You’ve got a curious soul.” He pointed out aimlessly before motioning for a brother to raise the lift. As Alana watched the ground beneath her disappear from her sight, she placed a gentle hand on Jon’s leathered shoulder. He had chosen to forgo his cloak today, despite the cold. She assumed he had grown used to it. 

He looked at her softly, his expression turning from mild agitation to slight exasperation. She placed a gloved hand on his cheek. “You’re quite handsome, you know.” His cheeks burned.

“I don’t know about that.” He whispered, savoring the feeling of her touch. Just moments before they reached the top, she leaned in and gave him a soft, chaste kiss. He wanted to stop himself but he couldn’t. Within seconds, his hands were in her hair and he kissed her as if he hadn’t been kissed in a thousand years.

They reached the top and he exited first, reaching a hand out to help her. Though she wouldn’t admit it, Jon Snow was correct in his assessment; she was afraid. She linked her arm through his as he carefully guided her over the icy snow and onto a parapet. 

She gazed at the vast expanse of land before her. She couldn’t believe she was looking north of the wall. She had heard many tales of fantastically terrifying creatures and ferocious wildings living amongst the haunted trees, and was almost disappointed to see how normal it appeared. 

“I lived out there, for a time,” Jon began, wishing now he had worn his cloak, “with the Freefolk.” 

She turned to face him, a curious grin springing onto her face. 

“Now how did you manage that?”

He instantly regretted bringing it up. “My brothers and I came upon a band of them, too close to the Wall. I was taken by one. She…” his voice grew softer and his words seemed to trail off. Alana stepped closer to him “did you love her?” She asked tenderly.

“Aye” he nodded. “I did. She died.” His voice was with thick with grief, and she suddenly felt both guilty and foolish for assuming the previous night wasn’t a one time event. 

“I’m sorry” she whispered.

She wore her emotions plainly on her face, and Jon wished he hadn’t upset her. “It’s all right,” he consoled “it was some time ago. The Freefolk are a strong people, Giants, Thenn’s, the like.” 

She began to comment on his mention of Giants, but his story wasn’t finished.

“Once I knew of their plan to attack the Wall, I had to leave them, and her.” 

“Did they? Attack the Wall?”

“Aye. Nearly lost the Castle, but she held up. I lost her that night though.” 

“What was her name?”

“Ygritte.” 

He hadn’t spoke her name in some time. It felt almost unfamiliar in his mouth. 

She wanted to touch him, console him somehow, but she didn’t know how to. The Lord Commander was not a man who seemed to open up easily.

“You know,” he began again, changing the subject, “Tyrion Lannister pissed off the Wall right there.”

She laughed and turned to him with a startled expression “The Imp?” He laughed now. “Aye! He’s a good man, Tyrion, I like to think.”

“A Stark and a Lannister! Even the most creative poets of Dorne couldn’t have come up with that. I trust you are a good judge of character.”

“I like to think so. I enjoy  _ your _ company, and think you to be a singular woman...so long as you don’t put any spells on me.” An impish grin spread upon his face as Alana playfully smacked his arm. “I am  _ not  _ a witch, Jon Snow.”

“Whatever you say.” He teased, raising both brows and holding his palms up. 

There was something familiar about the echoes of their laughter bouncing off the edge of the world.

  
  



	6. A Man Without Honor

 

The snow came down hard. This blistering cold felt like a hot iron on her skin as blankets of snow enveloped her. 

She couldn’t see the road in front of her. Her feet burned, and she looked down to find her shoes tattered, allowing the wet snow to seep into her boots. 

Sounds of inhuman voices reverberated through the trees as she continued to run. Aching, panting, with no destination in sight.

 

Alana woke up drenched in sweat. Coming to her senses, she was able to ground herself. Ironically, her chambers were warmer than usual, and she pushed her hair, sticky with sweat, away from her face.

Peering out of the stone window, she acknowledged that at least half of her dream had already come true. The snow was falling harder than she had ever seen before, and the courtyard looked as if it had never been tread upon by humans. 

Her body raked with chills as she remembered the feeling of running through that snow without even a cloak to keep her warm. It was no matter now, it was done, it was a dream, and there was nothing discernible that she could have even painted.

Her stomach rumbled with hunger;  _ would the boy steward even be able to reach the tower to bring me my meal? _

With the impossible snow, Alana knew she would not be leaving Castle Black any time soon. She wondered if maybe this was where her visions meant to lead her after all. 

 

-

 

While the rest of the castle rested, Jon Snow was hard at work. The horrendous weather conditions kept the men housebound, which was a rare treat for the lazy, yet overworked brothers. 

The Lord Commander, as usual, was allowed no such luxuries. He spent the early hours of the morning penning letters to various Lords, Maesters, and anyone else who would receive him, that Winter had begun to hit the North hard. He wanted to get them all completed before the current storm finished, so he could send the ravens as soon as the sky was clear. He contemplated sending word to the Blackmonts, but decided to honor Alana’s wishes.

Hand cramping, he finished writing the letters in his worst handwriting. He was famished, but refused to eat until he had completed his task. 

He called Olly in to ask if his tasks for the day had been completed, and much to his dismay, they had not been. He wanted to forgive the young steward, as he knew the weather was unbearable, but his morning tasks involved delivering Alana her breakfast, and he hated to keep her waiting.

Since the idea of the young boy treading through several feet of snow seemed to be out of the question, Jon decided to deliver her meal himself, and join her if she’d allow it. 

-

 

Alana contemplated venturing out of the tower in search of sustenance, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave the rare warmth of her chambers. She stoked the absurdly large fire and gazed into the flames, hoping for some confirmation of her earlier suspicions. Nothing came. 

She forced herself into a meditative state, waiting for the answers to come to her, until a rap at the door broke her silence. 

She opened the door, preparing to feel guilty about having the young boy wander through the snow for her, but she had no need to. Instead, all she could do was laugh at the sight before her. The Lord Commander, long hair drenched, cloaks blanketed in thick snow. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled, inviting himself in.

 

She liked his occasional bouts of boldness. 

 

“Couldn’t find it in myself to send the boy out into the snow, and I was also hoping you’d allow me to join you” He smiled as sweetly as possible in attempts to persuade her.

She wanted to send him away so she could focus on the question searing a hole into her mind, but his smile and pathetic appearance made her heart soft. His persuasion worked. “I would like that, very much.” She responded softly, clearing her mess of things off of the small table. 

He stepped back into the stone hallway and shook the dusting of snow off of his cloak before hanging it up by the door. She subtly admired his leather-clad figure, and for a moment, began to wonder what he looked like underneath.

“Alana,” he began soberly,

“Dont.” She responded, slowly inching toward him, not wanting to hear whatever miserable thing he’d say with a tone of voice like that. His breath hitched in his throat as he waited to see what she’d do. 

“What is it about you?” She asked brazenly, “you’ve taken up residence in my mind and I can’t seem to get you out.” Her voice was nearly a whisper.

He looked around as if the answer to her question would magically appear before him. “I don’t know” was all he could muster.

She took a step back, “forgive me, if i’ve overstepped” 

He sighed. “You haven’t”

“But I have.” She felt stupid for trying to forge something from nothing between she and the Lord Commander. After all, she couldn’t stay at the Wall forever. 

“Only because I wanted you to,” he admitted, stepping toward her, filling the gap between them that she had created. “Forgive my apprehension, Alana,” he stepped closer “I don’t know how to do these things.” 

His timorous nature was something she found endearing at times, but other times it made her feel sorry for him.

“Nor do I, really. I just...find myself drawn to you” She had butterflies in her stomach, but not just any butterflies, the famed butterflies of Naath that could kill you.

“As do I.”

“What of your vows?” 

_ Fuck _ , he thought. He’d hoped to erase all traces of dishonor from his mind, but he couldn’t. It was inevitable. 

_ Honor _ , he thought,  _ is a load of bullshit. _

“I’ve dishonored myself before, there’s no use pretending I am not a man without honor” he spoke gruffly, and Alana knew his tone was only to mask the hurt she knew he felt.

“Love does  _ not _ bring you dishonor,” she began firmly, “you have taken no wife, and fathered no children. Where is this dishonor you tout?”

He was stunned by her words, he hadn’t known anyone to defend his honor before.

“It’s not that simple.”

“But it is, Jon. I don’t know how things are done in the North, but I do know that if someone told a Dornishman he could not make love, he would wage war.”

Jon’s apprehension almost seemed to fade in that moment, and he chuckled at her comment. “Is that all you lot do? Drink summerwine in the rain and make love?”

“What of it? Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“It does.”

All of a sudden, their breakfast had been forgotten. Alana snaked her arms around the Lord Commanders waist and pressed her palms firmly to his back. 

She looked up at him, waiting for something to tell her to keep going.

She got her answer in the form of a sweeping kiss. In seconds, his mouth was crashing into hers; teeth, tongue, everything all at once. Her head was spinning, his heart was beating out of his chest.

She lost herself in the kiss as gentle hands began to tug at the laces of her bodice.

His lips found her neck as he unlaced her dress, inducing a wave of soft moans from her mouth. Her back was now exposed, and his warm hands stroked her gently as droplets of melted snow from his hair dripped down her neck. She shuddered at the chill and arched herself instinctively into his body. 

He held her tightly, heart beating with a ferocious, familiar intensity. She fingered the fasteners keeping his chest clad in leather, and forcefully removed his jerkin.

He shuddered beneath her touch as she continued to shed his layers until she could see the skin of his chest. She took a moment to admire him, tracing her index finger from the dip between his collarbones to just beneath his navel. She thought she could hear his heart pounding as she touched him, but it was soon drowned out by the sound of her own. 

Before her fingers could reach the fastener at his trousers, he hooked a strong arm around her and tenderly pushed her onto the bed. Dress still on, yet hanging by merely a strap, Alana let Jon take the lead, as he seemed to have a pretty good idea of what he was doing.

He placed a soft hand gently beneath her neck as he hovered over her, using his free hand to push the rest of her gown away.

 

It was his turn to look at her now. He blushed crimson as he scanned her body, remembering what it was like to be so vulnerable with another.

 

Removing his hand delicately from her neck, he timidly palmed her breasts, blushing again as he felt her nipples harden beneath his touch. 

She suddenly felt shy in the most delicious way; Jon’s sensitivity was shockingly sensual, unlike whatever she had expected. 

“Jon,” she breathed as he absentmindedly let his hands roam her body, bare, save her smallclothes “I want to see you”

“Patience” he mumbled against her as he began nipping at the skin of her collarbone. She shivered as beads of cool water continued to fall from his hair and onto her body. 

He took his time kissing her wherever he’d like; her neck, her collarbones, anywhere that made her let out those sweet sounds that drove him mad.

She wanted so badly to tell him how wonderful everything felt, but every time he moved, waves of euphoria rushed over her. 

“Please” she said in the same breathy voice. 

He ignored her pleas and let his mouth travel to her breasts, rolling his careful tongue over a nipple until he decided it was sensitive enough, he then paid equal attention to it’s twin.

She felt herself soaking through her smallclothes, and was almost embarrassed at the intensity of her arousal.

Once he was satisfied with the attention he gave her breasts, he moved back up her body, kissing her more passionately than any time before. “So lovely,” he whispered against her lips as she tangled her fingers in his wet hair.

He broke the kiss and climbed off of her, and the bed. She moaned at the absence of contact, but as he knelt at the foot of the bed, fingers hooked in the remaining fabric concealing her lower half, she welcomed whatever came next.

The Lord Commander was full of surprises, Alana thought. Since the two had met only a few days prior, their affections toward each other had been consistently confusing. Jon was shy, and bound by honor, drowning himself in self-loathing at the smallest bit of pleasure he allowed himself. Alana was bold, but confused by her own desire, and shrouded in secrecy. 

He maintained eye contact with her as he stripped her of her remaining smallclothes. It was her turn to blush as he eyed her sex. The room was silent, erotically, and comfortably so.

Jon pressed a series of soft kisses to her inner thighs, and Alana fought the innate urge to arch her back and buck her hips. He continued leaving kisses on her lower half, until she felt one in the last place she expected. This time, her back arched off the bed and her hands chaotically fisted themselves in his hair. “ _ Jon” _ she exhaled sharply as her skin burned hotter than fire. 

The sound of his name shot whatever blood was left in his upper half straight to his cock. He ignored the throbbing ache he felt as he impishly ran his tongue over her slit. The sounds of her moans reverberated off of the stone walls, and Jon was suddenly grateful they were locked away in the tower, as he never wanted those sounds to cease.

She hooked a leg over his shoulder as he continued to lap at her slick folds, eliciting a completely feral response from Alana. She couldn’t believe how wild she felt, and the pleasure overtook any self control she had. 

“Jon,  _ PLEASE _ ,” she begged, pushing him off of her before she unconsciously let herself go before she intended to.

He smirked as he obeyed her wishes. 

 

“Gods, Jon. And to think I thought you were shy” she mused through jagged breaths “now would you please let me see you”

“Someone is needy” he mumbled, smirking again as he shyly unlaced his trousers. She bit down on her lip sharply as he slowly removed his remaining garments. His cock jumped in anticipation as she stared him down, crawling toward him on all fours. 

She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him back onto the bed. He nearly smothered her neck, shoulders, and chest with kisses as she reached out to wrap a small hand around his cock. It was bigger than she had expected, and she suddenly felt her cunt ache as she stroked him gently.

Jon groaned at the contact and remembered how fucking good it felt to be touched by someone other than himself. “So lovely” he mumbled again, mostly to himself, as she squeezed his length.

They were both on their knees, facing each other. She reluctantly released him from her grip as she wrapped both arms around his neck, kissing him deeply. “I want you, Jon” her Dornish accent thick. 

She didn’t need to say anything else, within moments, she was on her back, the Lord Commander hovering over her, both wanting so badly to feel every inch of each other.

“You,” he began, breathing the words into her ear so closely she could feel his breath, “are so beautiful”

Her stomach turned over at the sound of his voice; so sweet, so unlike what he shows the rest of the world. “So are you” she said, and meant. “I want to feel you inside of me.”

Who was he to deny her wishes?

“Anything you want” he mumbled as he sucked at the sensitive skin beneath her ear, almost certainly leaving a mark. 

She reached out to once again wrap a hand around his thick, hard cock, this time lining him up with her entrance.

He was rendered almost entirely useless as he felt the heat from her sex against him. She guided his cock up and down her cunt, shaking at the contact as she did so, before releasing him.

He entered her slowly, savoring every moment, not knowing if this would ever happen for him again. She did the same, savoring the feeling of every inch filling her up.

Once he was entirely sheathed in her, the sounds of their collective moaning filled the room like sweet music. He slowly rocked his hips into hers, studying her reactions; the faces she made, every sound that escaped her gorgeous lips, the way her breasts bounced, everything. He seared the memory of her writhing beneath him into his mind forever, refusing to allow himself to forget it.

“Oh Jon” she breathed, biting his shoulder, rocking herself against him in response “you feel so fucking good” 

“So do you,” he buried his face in her neck as he continued to move in her, “so wet, and warm. Gods its never felt this good before” he admitted involuntarily as he began fucking her harder. 

She welcomed the increased friction and gripped him so tightly, she was sure her nails had drawn blood. Her pleasure began to build and she wasn’t sure how long she’d last, but by the sound of Jon’s raggedy breaths and incoherent mumbles, she knew he probably wouldn’t last much longer either. 

“Fuck me” she begged explicitly into his neck as she pulled his body as close to hers as possible. The feeling of his hips flush against hers made her heart flutter and her skin burn.

His groans grew louder as she rhythmically bucked her hips, meeting his thrusts every time. After a moment, the heat in her lower body exploded through her, sending waves of pleasure through every nerve ending in her body. It took everything in her not to scream from the sensation.

Jon stared at her deliciously, rocking her through her orgasm, before almost immediately following suit. His thrusts grew uneven and he whimpered repeatedly as he peaked, pulling out of her, and spilling all over her belly.

“Sorry,” he said through shaky breaths, collapsing beside her, reaching for something to clean her off with.

“Don’t apologize,” she began, still unable to breathe normally again “that was…”

“I know.”

“Jon,” she began, tenderly brushing his curls from his eyes, feeling the urge to open herself up to him the way he just did for her, “I lied to you”

Fear briefly washed over his face, he had just given himself over to someone quicker than ever before, letting his rare vulnerability consume him.

“My name is Alana Martell.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we've basically reached the point where things can begin to happen now. I'm excited to see where this story takes me! Drop ideas/suggestions/anything! <3


	7. Dead Man's Daughter

“Martell?” He asked, confused and interested.

She knew she had only moments to decide whether or not to divulge her true parentage to Jon Snow, but once she had spoken there was no option for retraction.

“My father was Oberyn Martell and my mother is Ellaria Sand, his lover. They knew when I was young that I was... _ special _ , and decided to keep me a secret for my own safety, raising me as their ward if anyone were to inquire. My father had a deal with Lord Blackmont.”

“But why?” 

“Do you remember the face you made when I told you I lived in Asshai for a time? That is why.” She admitted, wriggling herself closer to his still-nude form. He looked effortlessly handsome with his curls falling into his eyes and his apparently handcrafted, defined chest highlighted by the soft glow of the sun through the window.

He gently brushed her hair from her face and placed a soft hand on her cheek. “Makes no difference to me” he murmured honestly, drinking in the sound of her voice and feeling it churn through him.

She exhaled incredulously “They didn’t want to raise me with a bastard name” she looked for his reaction. He remained unchanged, gazing, anticipating every word that would come to fall from her lips. “I used to envy my sisters. The Sandsnakes, they call them. Tyene, Nymeria, and Obara. I miss them. They were the prize of my father’s lifetime. They carried their bastard names as if they were badges of honor. My mother swore I was destined for something other than fighting which is why they found me a suitable, legitimate name” She rolled her eyes before continuing “My mother swore I would marry a King. She believed she had seen it in a vision. I’m not so sure.”

Jon felt an inexplicable pang of disappointment “A King?”

“The visions are oft not easy to interpret.”

“You’d make a fair Queen”

She smiled shyly and rolled onto her back, staring at the stone ceiling she had come to know so well. 

“I know what your father meant by the North reaching the South” he admitted.

Her head whipped around to face him, “And you said nothing?” She sat up sharply.

“I’m speaking now, am I not?”

Her cheeks stung from the heat building behind them. She gritted her teeth and nodded for him to continue.

 

“I suppose you’ve heard the stories, perhaps from your wet nurse. The fabled creatures beyond the Wall.”    
“The dead?”

“Aye. The dead. They crawl out of the forest and into the Frostfangs come Winter. Perhaps South of the Wall even.”

“Only stories…” she trailed off.

“They aren’t only stories, and I have to leave tomorrow.” 

 

Her cheeks stung again. She was confused at his admission and hurt that he was leaving her.

 

“I treated with the Freefolk once the battle had ended. Forcing them to remain North of the Wall would only grow the army of the dead.”

“ _ Army  _ of the dead? Jon, I don’t understand.”

“I will explain everything to you, sweet, once I can understand, myself. I promise.” Though he spoke tenderly, he was unsure if he’d be able to keep his promise.

“Where will you go?” her eyes moistened.   
“Hardhome. North of the Wall. You’ve seen the snow falling, we must allow the Freefolk through the gate before Winter truly arrives. It isn’t safe.”

 

Alana couldn’t believe the things she was hearing; an army of dead men, Wildlings South of the Wall, the Lord Commander leaving her bed.

 

“When will you return?” she asked in a hushed whisper; reaching for him, lacing her fingers with his. His other hand stroked her back delicately.

 

“Immediately, should everything go well.” He kissed her forehead. 

 

“Jon, you are the Lord Commander, should you not stay here for your men?” She searched for any excuse to keep him safe within the walls of the Castle.

 

He gave her that strained expression she had first seen the day they’d met, and hoped to never see again.

 

“Someone has to look out for the Freefolk. You won’t see Ser Allister out there.” 

 

“You’re brave, Jon Snow.” 

 

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder and held him tightly. They lay together in comfortable silence for some time, idly watching the snow fall through the stone window.

 

Alana was afraid for him. She saw the fear splayed across his face when he described his mission, she saw his newfound vulnerability, and she saw her own vulnerability falling into his hands.

 

She resented the tender feelings for him that she tried to keep locked away. Mere days ago they were strangers; she an unwelcome visitor and he her reluctant hero. Now, they lay tangled together in a confused, intimate heap.

 

Jon held Alana to his chest as she drifted off to sleep. The morning had not yet turned to afternoon and Jon took a moment to actually enjoy the tranquility of a morning off.

 

The sound of her soft breathing and the feel of her chest rising and falling against his body made him afraid. He’d never lain in a warm bed with a woman in his arms, swaddled in furs, with a blazing fire at the foot.. He ran curious fingertips over her body, feeling her skin prick with goosebumps as he did so, wanting to know her as intimately as possible.

 

He suddenly no longer wanted to leave, he wished someone else would aid the Freefolk. He was afraid he wouldn’t return. The mission could potentially be a dangerous one. Normally, he would shrug it off, he was willing to live and die at his post, just as his vows expressed.

 

But he no longer felt that way. For the first time in a very, very long time, Jon Snow had something to stay alive for, even if it was selfish.

 

-

 

Jon drifted off to sleep a few moments later, though only for a short while. He awoke to Alana, still naked, stoking the fire, before settling in front of it.

 

He sat up in bed, pulling the warm furs to his bare chest. He was careful not to disturb her, but he wanted to watch.

 

She stared into the flames silently, cocking her head ever so often. He wasn’t sure if he watched her for moments or hours. 

 

Afternoon had come and Jon knew he had many preparations to make before his departure the following day. He had never hated duty and honor as he did right now.

 

“You’re awake” she smiled nervously, turning away from the flames and skimming through her collection of inks “come sit with me”

 

He obeyed, as naked as his nameday. 

 

He watched her with a curious intensity. She dipped the quill into a rose colored ink and splashed it across the page effortlessly. She then mixed in pale gold and a bevy of white and blue hues. He was transfixed by the image being created before his eyes.

 

She focused on her work, never stopping, not even to look up at the man she so intimately desired. 

 

Upon completion, she slid the painting to Jon wordlessly. He was quiet as he examined the parchment. 

 

He saw snow and pools of blood illuminated by the yellow light of dawn. He thought he recognized the scenery. He wondered if it was where he had been planning to go the next day. The most disconcerting aspect of the artwork was the lack of human bodies to accompany the quantity of blood.

 

“Don’t go” she whispered.

 

“I have to” his voice coarse with fear “but I  _ will _ come back”

 

She scoffed and shook her head “without a heartbeat, maybe”

 

“Alana,” he began, bending on one knee and taking her hand in his “I will try my hardest to come back.”

 

She begged him to be careful, and he made her a myriad of promises he wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep.

 

They then spent the rest of the afternoon making love and sharing secrets. Jon never wanted it to end, but as all good things do, it had to. 

 

Once the sunlight had begun to fade, Jon apprehensively left Alana in the tower. 

 

As he exited the base of the tower, he was met by the familiar glower of Ser Allister’s miserable face.

 

“Lord Snow spending his days in the prisoner’s tower fucking his Dornish whore while his brothers prepare for a suicide mission.” He spat.

 

Jon ignored him. He and Thorne both knew that comment was a hanging offense, but Jon wouldn’t dare make anything of it. 

 

“You should let the rest of us have a turn”

 

“ **_Enough_ ** _ ”  _ Jon bellowed, loudly enough that Alana could hear him from the tower. 

 

Thorne exited the courtyard with a furious tenacity, muttering something about the difference in taste from his wildling whore.

 

Jon fumed as he stormed through the courtyard, and back to his duties. Turning to look back at the tower, he saw her in the window, arms crossed on the sill, long hair falling upon the stone. They exchanged a far away glance, and Jon mustered a smile as he returned to his responsibilities.

 

He prayed that would not be the last time he ever saw her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a lot of creative liberties with timelines and events, but that's the fun of fanfiction I suppose! 
> 
> *I will go into detail about why exactly the Martell's had an agreement with the Blackmonts in a later chapter, no fear!*
> 
> I also want to clarify something from earlier chapters; Joffrey is already dead. Jon knows that Joffrey is dead which is why he found her portrait of his corpse interesting. She disclosed that she dreamt things before they happened so as to imply she painted the picture beforehand. 
> 
> :)
> 
> I also want to thank M1ke_H0ncho, FieraKnight, Fenrir, Clervasi, and melbelprincess for their kind comments!


	8. Promises of Fear

Alana awoke well before the sun had risen. She could tell by the position of the moon in the sky that she had only slept several hours.

The thought of Jon amongst the carnage she saw in the flames shook her to her core. She had never found herself so deeply attached to someone so new, but she found all of her thoughts constantly looping back to the Lord Commander. 

He was different than any man she had known. 

 

He wore a harsh exterior that kept the world at bay, but inside her bed he was a different man. Inside her bed he was kind, appreciative, giving, sweet even, tender and emotional, but strong. He listened intently to everything she had to say, appreciated her skill in fighting, and never passed judgement. 

 

She had spent some time longing for someone to appreciate her for what she was, and he seemed to do just that. Maybe he was the reason she had come North, maybe not. 

 

She crawled out of the bed and began to dress. She wished Jon could see how she looked at home; fine silks and linens with cutouts over her curves, garlands of roses decorating her long hair, ornate sandals that left intricate markings in the Earth beneath her soles.

The gown she wore in the North was thick and made of dirty looking golden fabric. It was quite a lovely dress, but it was not her. 

 

She left her hair down, long, swinging well past her hips, the loose hair in front braided lazily. 

 

She was still unsatisfied with Jon’s goodbye. Once they had finished making love the previous afternoon, he passionately bid her farewell, despite his lingering presence at the Wall. She needed to see him again before first light, before he left. Before he left  _ her _ .

 

She made her way down the now-familiar steps of the tower, all seventy two steps, until she found herself in unfamiliar halls. She was grateful for her keen intuition, or else she feared she would stumble into the wrong room. 

Her muscle memory eventually led her straight to the door of the Lord Commander’s chambers, and she was thrilled to have not seen a single soul on her way there. That was probably best for Jon as well.

 

She gripped the door handle, held her breath, and was pleased to find it unlatched. She exhaled deeply and slipped into his warm room, admiring the way the moonlight poured in. She took a moment to appreciate the stillness, and the man before her. He was still asleep, and she was glad to see him resting. 

 

The Lord Commander was buried beneath the thick furs, with only the tip of his head peeking out, moonlight showering his raven tresses in milky white light. 

 

Reaching out gently, she admiringly stroked his hair as she sat on the edge of the bed.  _ So soft _ she thought, twirling a lock between her fingers. He did not stir.

 

She delicately slid into the bed with him and wrapped a clothed arm around his bare body, pressing her chest against his back and kissing him there. 

He only began to stir at the feeling of her lips on his skin. 

 

“Jon,” she murmured into his skin.

 

He rolled over lazily and immediately found her eyes. His were droopy, tired, but welcoming. He did not seem disturbed by her invasion of his bed, but rather he welcomed it. 

“What are you doing here?” he whispered, voice thick with sleep.

“I had to see you once more” his heart fluttered.

“Take this off” he tugged at the heavy sleeves of her gown.

 

She did as she was told before crawling back into bed with the sleepy Lord Commander. She had not intended to wake him, but the sound of his voice was exactly what she needed before his departure. 

 

Once she lay beside him again, he pulled her close, wordlessly stroking her hair. 

 

These were the moments Jon appreciated most. Sharing comfortable silence intimately with another. He feared there was no way it could last. 

 

Over the next hour or so, Jon explained everything to her as best he could, stroking her face reassuringly. He told her about the presence of Stannis Baratheon and his men, Mance Rayder: the King Beyond the Wall, a Wildling called Tormund with whom Jon would be traveling, and about the first time he saw a dead man. 

 

It was too much information for Alana to process, but she tried her best, paying attention to every single detail. 

“There are lands, South of the Wall, for the Freefolk to farm so long as I can get them through the gate...but Winter is upon us, so we must act quickly.”

 

She silently lauded his bravery and moral compass. He seemed to always want to do what was right, even when the consequences were dire. 

 

As Jon dressed, he told her about his best friend Sam, a fellow Brother of the Night’s Watch. He told her about Gilly, Sam’s Wildling lover, and her child who also lived at the Castle for protection. Alana was surprised she hadn’t seen her, and made it a point to find out more about her while Jon was away. 

 

Was this her temporary home now? What if Jon didn’t come back? 

 

She forced those thoughts out of her head as she said goodbye to Jon once more. She slipped out of his chambers, peeking through the hall to make sure no one would see her, so as to maintain Jon’s honorable repute.

 

Her attempts were in vain, however, as she collided with a Black Brother upon turning a corner. 

“Oh, pardon me” the man gasped politely “didn’t see you there,”

 

“I must be lost, forgive me” she responded, voice drenched in fear. 

 

“It’s quite alright, I assume you were visiting with Jon.” 

 

She said nothing.

 

“I won’t say anything, you know.” 

 

She smiled meekly and nodded graciously “I’m Alana”

 

“Samwell Tarly, my lady.” 

 

A wave of relief rushed through her body; this was the man Jon had spoken of. 

 

“Jon told me I could trust you.” 

 

“You can” he began as he moved to continue on his way “and don’t worry, Jon always comes back.”

 

She thanked the man for his kindness and returned to her now too-familiar home in the tower. 

 

She wasn’t sure if the sting on her cheeks was from the cold, or her tears.

 

-

 

Jon could hardly hear the voices of the men around him over the pang of his heart beating loudly in his ears. 

He knew that his Brothers did not approve of his willingness to help the Freefolk. He knew that bringing them through the gate would likely cause an irreparable rift between them, but he  _ was _ the Lord Commander, after all, and his word was final.

 

His mind raced with the image of Alana’s premonition. The blood pooling in the empty snow at Hardhome, no men, dead or alive. 

 

Some deep, dark part of him hoped that the painting was but an elaborate ruse to keep him at Castle Black, but he found it hard to believe Alana would lie to him. 

 

-

 

Now that Jon had left, Alana had no real protection at the Castle. Word had spread of Alana’s  _ close _ relationship with the Lord Commander, and it was likely from the mouth of Ser Allister Thorne. 

 

His hatred for Jon angered her;  she knew the power Thorne had over the opinions of many Black Brothers, and Jon could not afford to draw any more resentment toward himself upon returning with a band of Wildlings. 

She noted that he always referred to them as the Freefolk and never Wildlings. His compassion for them tugged at her heart, and she began to abhor the stories she had heard of them in her youth. 

 

Mind racing with thoughts of Freefolk and dead men, she sought out the company of Samwell Tarly, the man she had met earlier. 

 

Jon had described him fairly well to her, and she had a feeling she might find him in the library. She figured the likelihood of encountering any other brothers there would be slim. 

 

As she turned the labyrinthine corners of Castle Black, she studied her steps, counting how many it took from room to room until she could no longer hear the terrifying tales Jon had told her about his reality.

 

“Lady Blackmont!” Sam exclaimed, fumbling with the pages between his fingers as she stumbled upon the library in question. She sighed with relief once more. 

He had been poring over a book, something long and tedious that Alana had no interest in. “Might I sit in your company for a moment.”

“Oh, of course.”

“Jon told me of Gilly, and the babe.”

Sam smiled “Oh yes, you’d like them. Little Sam may bring you joy.”

 

Her ears perked at his name. “Is he yours, then?” 

 

Sam chuckled “Not by blood, but I look after him.”

 

“And no one says a thing?”

 

He chuckled again and gestured to himself “I can’t fight, can hardly defend myself let alone the realm. I stay here and study, go about my business. If there’s a problem, Ghost will take care of it.”

 

“Ghost?” She asked, a smile creeping on her face. 

 

“Jon’s Direwolf.” 

 

Her eyes widened. Jon had somehow managed to forget to mention his  _ Direwolf. _

 

“A Direwolf?” 

 

“I’ll guess you’ve made quite an impression on Jon if he forget to mention Ghost.”

 

She blushed. 

 

Sam motioned for her to follow him, and she did just that, trailing once again through the labyrinthine halls. Fascinated by the secrets the men kept, she strode along excitedly. 

 

Out in the cold once more, Sam unlatched a small door, and the largest Wolf she had ever seen stepped out. Not that she’d really ever seen a wolf before, but she had imagined. 

 

The direwolf was white as snow with eyes as red as blood. He padded through the snow and directly approached Sam, nuzzling against him appreciatively. 

 

Alana couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Since arriving North she had experienced the strangest things. 

 

Once Ghost was finished with Sam, he sniffed Alana precariously. She nearly stumbled back, surprisingly afraid of the rather beautiful creature. He then licked her gloved hand and pressed his nose into her dress. She looked up at Sam who had a large grin on his face.

 

“I think he likes you!” 

 

She laughed and stroked the soft fur between his ears, “A bloody direwolf”, she laughed incredulously.

 

Sam watched the fear fade from Alana’s face as she played with the wolf, and he felt a pang of relief himself. Jon had not yet spoken to him of his relationship with Alana, but he recognized the changes in Jon’s demeanor. He wanted happiness for Jon as he had found himself, and Alana’s worry reassured him that she likely felt whatever Jon felt as well.

 

For all of their sakes, Sam truly hoped Jon returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another kinddddd of filler chapter. This story is probably going to be considerably long seeing as not *too much* has happened yet, and i'm still working on establishing a lot of basic things that will prove important later down the line.
> 
> I also chose to exclude Jon's POV at Hardhome, as we've all read about it or seen it before. We'll deal with the aftermath in the next chapter, and once that's done, the story will finally take off.
> 
> Thanks for reading, and for the kudos, and for your lovely comments! Nothing makes me want to update faster than reading your kind words!


	9. The Man, The Myth, The Massacre

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the last somewhat canon chapter, for after this, we begin to diverge!

Jon returned to Castle Black some days later. Bloody, bruised, battered. They had managed to convince a great many of the Freefolk to join them and come South, but they had gotten there too late.

 

All Jon wanted was to collapse into bed and sleep for three days. He thought of Alana and hoped she hadn’t been worrying. 

Unfortunately, as always, Jon could do none of what he wanted. He spent the early hours of his return arguing with Thorne over whether to let the Freefolk pass through the gate. Thorne warned Jon that his compassion would get them all killed, but Jon knew what would really get them all killed. He finally managed to convince Thorne, however, to open the gate.

 

“We lost so many of them” Jon mumbled soberly to Sam, who had been awaiting his arrival. Sam watched the array of Freefolk pass through the Castle walls and couldn’t help feeling sorry for Jon.

“But look how many you saved” 

 

Jon looked, he saw, but it wasn’t enough. 

 

-

 

Alana had been bathing when she heard the commotion. 

 

The first few days after Jon’s departure were the least difficult. She knew that Jon would be traveling for at least four days before arriving at his destination, which gave her 8 days before she should start worrying.  

On the 9th day, Alana decided she needed a distraction. She called for the Lord Commander’s steward to draw her a bath. As she soaked in the hot water, her thoughts overtook her. She slipped beneath the surface and held her breath until she could do so no longer, forcing her mind to go blank.

As she emerged, she heard the sounds of distant shouting through her open window.

 

She rushed to cover herself with the nearest scrap of fabric as she ran to the window. She watched as the gates opened and Jon rode through. She could hardly see anything from the tower, but she knew that head of hair anywhere.

All she wanted was to run down the steps and bolt into his arms, but she knew she couldn't. All that mattered was that Jon was safe. If she could wait 9 days, she could wait a few more hours. She knew he’d come for her.

 

-

 

She waited a great many hours, but she couldn’t blame Jon. She knew the chaos that his decision had caused, and she applauded him for it. 

 

He found her in the tower once the sun had gone down. She had been pacing, going out of her mind with want. It wasn’t the same kind of wanting that kept her body engulfed in flames, but rather a pleasant longing. 

 

His appearance pained her. His face was bruised and covered in deep cuts, lower lip fat from impact, and an expression of sheer exasperation.

“Jon,” she whispered as she stroked his face, “well, you came back”

 

He flashed a sheepish, miserable grin “I did.”

 

As he told her about the massacre that hard occurred at Hardhome, she understood why he always looked so pained. She wanted to understand how he had come to be so bound by honor, and though she knew his reasons, she didn’t understand.

She watched his face carefully as she relieved him of his many layers, revealing bruise after bruise. He nearly gasped as she feathered a gentle hand over his wounded abdomen. 

 

“You need to leave” Jon stated plainly, disappointingly. 

 

She looked at him as if he had struck her. He immediately caught the change in her expression and continued, “it’s not safe. I told you what I saw.”

 

“And I am supposed to leave you here to deal with the dead?” Her accent was thick and rich and Jon wasn’t sure if he could stand to hear any more of it. 

 

“I swore a vow what am I supposed to do? Take off for Dorne and marry you in the Water Gardens?” Jon spat, wanting to do just that. 

 

She shook her head at him as her body filled with fire. This was what she wanted after all, to leave Castle Black, but now? 

 

“You said it yourself, you broke your vows once, why not a second time?” 

 

“They chastised me for fucking but they’ll do a lot worse for deserting.” 

 

She bit down on her lip so hard she tasted blood. Her first day here she had the pleasure of witnessing just what happens to deserters. 

 

He looked hopeless, and just as unhappy as she, but that still did not quell the rage that brewed within her. He looked completely beaten down, almost pathetic, and all she wanted was to feel sorry for him.

 

“I’ll help you then, let me stay. You know I can fight.”

 

“You can’t stay at Castle Black forever, My Lady”   
  
“My Lady,” she mimicked “I could kill you right here and you wouldn’t even see the blade coming until it was in your neck.”

 

He grabbed her wrist and pulled her against him, speaking low “Then do it.” 

 

She inhaled sharply at the contact; his hair tickling her neck, the smell of him, his lips dangerously close to hers. 

 

Burying one hand in his soft hair as he gently kissed her neck, she used the other to grip her dagger. Slowly, she drew it against Jon’s neck, just gently enough to startle him. 

 

He said nothing, just raised a single brow as she delicately trailed the dagger over his chest. 

 

“I meant what I said.”

 

“I know you did.”

 

Jon leaned to kiss her once more, and Alana had forgotten about her anger.

 

With one fast flick of his wrist, Jon had disarmed her, now brandishing the ornate dagger himself. 

 

“A tip,” he began, nibbling on the shell of her ear, “from the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, strike when you first catch your enemy off guard. They’ll never slip up twice.” 

 

He held the dagger to her neck now, though his demeanor was much more playful and affectionate than hers.

 

“So you are my enemy, Jon Snow?”

 

“That’s what it feels like,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

 

She nearly lept off of him, placing her hands on her hips and cocking her head at him,

 

“You have a lot of nerve,  _ Lord Commander, _ snatching me from a band of thieves, stashing me in the highest tower, taking me into your bed and then sending me away.”

 

“Aye,” he began, raising his voice to her for the first time, “so I did. I didn’t expect you to be...the way you are. I thought i’d have you for supper and have you on your way, but  _ you _ stole your way into my chambers and made  _ me _ fall for you.” 

 

Through her pain, her heart fluttered at his admission. Though they’d known each other only a short while, she had, in earnest, began to fall for him as well. 

 

He sat on the edge of the bed, nothing but trousers, holding his face in the palm of his hands. Now, she felt sorry for him. 

 

She crawled onto the bed and wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her tightly. 

 

He relished the feeling of being held before using all of his remaining strength to gently flip her over. Hovering over her body, he began to unlace her dress, slow as sin. 

 

She wanted to refuse, to leave before she could fall any harder, but his hands had found her breasts and his lips had found her shoulders, and she suddenly realized that it probably would take an army of dead men to separate her from him.

 

He kissed her devastatingly slowly as her soft hands delicately roamed his body.

 

It was a dangerous game they played. 

 

She stripped him of his remaining clothes, pained by every new mark she discovered, wondering how it came to be before leaving soft kisses on every one. 

 

Jon tried so hard to enjoy himself, this is what he’d been longing for on the ride back to Castle Black, but he couldn’t.

 

“Alana, stop” he breathed uneasily. “Just,” he trailed off.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Just hold me” he asked, begged, admitted. 

 

She understood, and did just that.

 

-

 

After an hour or so, Jon had to leave her again. He needed to pen a handful of letters and document the movements and eventual settlement of the Freefolk. Since it had been his idea to allow them to pass, he was in charge of anything and everything related to their existence South of the Wall. 

 

Castle Black seemed to be full of people who did not belong, he keenly observed. Tormund, a Wildling he had known for some time had taken temporary residence at the Wall along with Davos Seaworth, one of Stannis’ aforementioned men. 

 

_ Why should they stay, and not Alana?  _ He thought to himself selfishly. 

_ She belongs in Dorne. _ He reminded himself. Scolded himself.

 

Once Jon was settled in his chambers, he fought an internal battle with himself over getting his work done versus worrying what to do about Alana.

 

Alana, on the other hand, found herself complacent with life at Castle Black. While she knew this would not be her home forever, she didn’t hate it. She found secret pleasure in being the Lord Commander’s confidential lover. Though he did not always receive the respect he was due, she saw how a great amount of these men revered him. 

 

She made her daily rounds, snooping around the Castle, until she came face to face with another foreigner, Ser Davos Seaworth. 

 

“Forgive me, My Lady” he said in an unfamiliar accent “but I have seen you around the castle, and I know it’s not right of me to say, but you don’t belong here.”

 

She smiled at his curious friendliness “I am from Dorne, My Lord, I found my way here by mistake. The Lord Commander rescued me from a band of thieves.”

 

“Ah, the Lord Commander has been doing quite a bit of rescuin’ these days.” 

 

“What do you think of that, My Lord?”

 

He seemed taken aback by her question. “His men don’t seem to agree with him, but the Freefolk are fighters, we need that.”

 

“To fight the war of some king no one has heard of?” She mused boldly.

 

He had no response for her on that matter. “You best mind yourself while you’re here, My Lady, there’s a lot of anger within these walls.”

 

“Valar Morghulis” was her only response. The man eyed her cautiously as she left him, curtsying condescendingly as she stepped onto one of the risers atop the courtyard. 

 

He followed her with interest, stopping only once he saw the amount of people in the yard. 

 

“What’s this?” she asked Davos, forgetting her disdain for him. 

 

“I don’t know, My Lady” He answered honestly.

 

The sun had set over an hour ago and the only light illuminating the snow came from several torches. A myriad of Night’s Watch brothers crowded a corner of the courtyard, and Alana ran for the steps as she saw Jon run to join them.

 

Davos grabbed her arm, stopping her, filled with fear.

 

Neither of them could make out what was being said, but once Jon disappeared into the crowd of men, and Alana could no longer see him, her heart began to pound with fear. 

 

She then heard shouting and the unmistakable sound of steel piercing flesh. 

 

Davos held her back and she attempted to lash out of his hold, but it was no use. 

 

Once the men began to clear the courtyard, she kicked Davos with all of her might and ran to Jon, screaming unintelligibly. 

 

He was on the ground, though she couldn’t bear to look at him for a moment. 

 

All she saw was blood pooling into the Earth, mixing into the snow, illuminated by the golden light from the torches. Her vision was not of Hardhome, she realized, it was of this. 

 

After a moment, she rushed to him. Heaving with sobs, she stroked his hair and screamed for someone to come. 

 

No one came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I definitely didn't intend for all of this to take 9 chapters (lol) but now I get to create the imaginary plot i've been dreaming of. The next chapter will be somewhat canon compliant, but not for long.
> 
> Before we move on to the canon divergence, I just want to say that this is all fiction and i'm going to disregard a lot of stuff that happened in the books and in the show. The story is about Jon and Alana, so a lot of characters may go without mention, as will some plotlines. 
> 
> I also want to say again that this is the first thing I have written in QUITE awhile so go easy on me! This is for fun, and i'd eventually like to build up to a Game of Thrones ending we like more than the show version (LOL) 
> 
> So much love to you all! Thank you for all of the comments and kudos, they keep me inspired!


	10. A Light That Never Goes Out

Everything happened so fast, yet excruciatingly slowly. 

 

Alana could not process anything happening around her. She was in a haze that she could not seem to break, and she felt as if she were watching herself from outside of her body. 

 

She didn’t realize when Ser Davos had called other men over to help; she refused to move. Her skirts were soaked in Jon’s blood and she couldn’t even bring herself to cry anymore. She felt cold as death. She didn’t realize that she had even stood up, or that Ghost was beside her.

 

The men brought Jon’s body inside and Alana trailed behind lifelessly, Ghost staying close to her.

 

She wasn’t sure how much time had passed inside the room, her sense of time always seemed to escape her when she could not control her emotions. Eventually the men began to leave, one by one, save Ser Davos, who seemed to be waiting for their departure. 

 

He covered her in a cloak and stared her down. She refused to meet his eye. 

 

“I knew a woman like you” he spoke in a gravelly voice “I knew what you were when I first saw you. I can  _ tell. _ ”

 

She wanted to feign surprise, or be angry, but she couldn't. She just let out an exasperated sigh as she forced herself to speak “And what of it? What can I do?”

 

He eyed her knowingly. “There must be a spell--”

 

“I am  _ not _ a witch” she spat back for the second time since she had arrived at Castle Black.

 

“I’ve heard tales, My Lady--”

 

“Tales. You’ve heard tales. There is a spell but i’ve never done it. I don’t know a soul who has.”

 

She refused to allow herself to look over at Jon’s body. Everything felt surreal, as if she were in one of her terrible dreams.

 

Davos looked at her with sympathy, and anger, before leaving the room. She disagreed with his intentions, but she knew that neither of them wanted the Lord Commander dead. 

 

If it weren’t for Ghost’s presence, she wasn’t sure she’d be functional at all right now. She felt incessant pangs of horrific grief that she had yet to experience in her life. It was different than the grief she had felt for her father, but no less painful.

 

She finally built up the strength to approach Jon. Ghost whimpered with every step she took. 

 

She stroked his hair and it took everything in her to keep it together. 

 

Running gentle fingers over the wound covering his heart, she bitterly began to recite what she remembered of the Valyrian words she had heard only once before.

 

_ Zyhys oñoso jehikagon Aeksiot epi, se gis hen syndrorro jemagon. _

 

Nothing. She held back tears and pushed away her hatred for the Lord of Light, the resentment she had for this God who had only shown her pain slowly falling apart as she began to grasp for some sort of hope,

 

_ Zyhys perzys stepagon Aeksio Oño jorepi, se morghultas lys qelitsos sikagon. _

 

The only sign of life in the room came from Ghost, who continued to whimper . 

 

She began to sob as she continued, unsure if she was even speaking the right words. 

 

_ Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson. _

 

Ghost finally stopped whimpering as he buried his snout between his paws. Alana knew it was useless to try anything else. 

 

She sat in the corner of the room, stiff as a board.

 

While in Asshai, Alana had experienced a great many things that terrified her. The Temple of the Red God was filled with young girls afraid of their own power. The gift of sight was one of the less common abilities amongst the young women. 

 

Alana was viewed, to a degree, as a pariah. A great many of the women believed the gift of sight was not a gift, but a curse, one meant to create doomed prophecies. 

 

She had studied under a High Priestess named Lixana, who was said to have the power of reanimation. This power, however, was not one that you were born with. This power was said to come directly from the Lord of Light. Lixana had taught her the words, but warned her of their power.

 

The Lord of Light proved, in Alana’s eyes, to be a malevolent God, taking the lives of the young priestesses who sought power but were unable to serve him. 

 

She had refused to serve a malevolent God, so she had slipped away in the night, following one of many dreams of snow. 

 

Returning to Dorne was out of the question. Her father had been killed and her reappearance would surely cause problems. 

 

Before her father’s death, he had made an agreement with Lord Blackmont pertaining to Alana, the agreement she had shared with Jon. 

 

Lady Blackmont had given birth to a daughter some years before Alana, who had also been  _ special _ . She grew to be a rather resentful girl, wholly aware of her power. 

 

She was jealous, and had placed a curse on the Martell family, seeking to doom them and place the Blackmonts at Sunspear. 

 

The curse appeared to work, for a time. Members of the Martell family began to grow sickly, babes and mothers were dying in childbirth, paralysis crippled some, death took others swiftly in the night. 

 

After a time, however, the young Blackmont girl had grown weaker, and the curse had begun to reverse itself onto her. Within days, she was dead. 

 

Alana’s mother had vowed to destroy the Blackmont family, until she found herself with child. 

 

While pregnant with Alana, she had a great many visions. A grown, beautiful daughter adorned in wedding robes unfamiliar to those in Dorne, saying the marriage words to a man in a crown. 

 

She interpreted the visions to mean a royal wedding, something impossible with her unborn daughter’s bastard name. Rather than seeking to legitimize the baby, Oberyn sought to make amends with House Blackmont, as he knew the likelihood of his future daughters abilities. 

 

Upon her birth, Lord Blackmont agreed to claim the child as his own, “allowing” the Martells to raise her as their “ward.”

 

As Alana ruminated on her past, she couldn’t help but feel as if her plan had actually taken her exactly where she needed to be. Every vision in the past had brought her nothing but pain, why should this one be any different?

 

As she forced the memories of Asshai and Dorne out of her mind, she slowly drifted off to sleep.

 

-

 

She awoke instantly to the sounds of gasping. Jon was no longer dead as she had left him, but sitting up on the slab, shaking with horror. 

 

She ran to him faster than she’d ever run before, ripping her cloak off and covering him with it. 

 

It was impossible to tell who was more horrified, Jon or Alana. 

 

Neither of them said a word. Jon’s eyes were wide and he continued to shake as if he were bare in the snow. 

 

“Jon…” she whispered cautiously, reaching for him.

 

He leaned away from her, fingering the knife wounds on his abdomen, before looking up at her in horror. 

 

“They stabbed me” he choked out, barely able to form words. 

 

She pulled him close to her, trying to quell whatever emotion he could possibly be feeling. 

 

The feeling of utter horror was palpable in the room. Alana had not known anyone to succeed with this spell. She was astounded that she had been the one to do so.

 

“It’s okay” she cooed in her quietest voice, stroking his back as he continued to shudder, unable to catch his breath.

 

“There was nothing, Alana” 

 

She felt a stone cairn stacking in the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t reply.

 

“We’re leaving Castle Black” he said shakily yet adamantly, trying, and failing, to stand up.

 

“Not right now we aren’t” she said with a pained uncertainty. He looked at her completely and utterly helplessly. 

 

\--

 

A day had passed and Jon had somewhat began to regain his strength. The two hardly exchanged any words, which scared Alana. She wasn’t sure what death had taken from him, if anything at all.

 

She watched as he dressed and couldn’t help but let her thoughts spill over into words.

 

“Jon...how-how do you feel?” 

 

“I don’t know. I feel like I shouldn’t be here.”

 

“Jon, you must be here for a reason. The Lord of Light brought you back.”

 

“ _ You _ brought me back.”

 

She palmed her face in her hands.

 

“People can’t bring people back. Only the Lord can.”

 

“I thought the Red God was no God of yours” he spat.

 

She was taken aback. 

 

“I do not worship this God, but I had to do something.”

 

He sighed, angrily sheathing his sword before motioning for Alana to follow him. 

 

He wasn’t angry with Alana. He was just angry.

 

They then made their way to the courtyard where Jon was to hang his killers. 

 

Alana still felt as if it were all a dream and all she could do was watch idly and helplessly. 

 

Ser Allister, the men who admired him, and Olly, Jon’s own steward, were hanged in the courtyard moments later. 

 

Jon’s previously perpetual strained demeanor had now turned into an unquenchable, pained rage.

 

Once the men were dead, he sheathed his sword, called to Alana, and walked out. Leaving all of Castle Black, his friends, and his post. 

 

“My watch has ended.”

 

Alana mounted a horse, trailing closely behind Jon and Ghost. 

 

She wondered where they would go, or if things would ever be the same between them again. 

 

All she knew was that it was cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow we can finally leave castle black now, thank Goddess. Where will they go? ;)
> 
> We got to learn a little bit more about Alana in this chapter which is cool. 
> 
> Really, we just needed Jon to die and come back pretty much as quickly as possible so i can leave this canon behind. 
> 
> Fair warning, things are going to happen a lot differently now so try not to compare anything too hard to the show/books. I also keep making up lore like the dornish rain story and the story of the blackmonts and the martells etc. 
> 
> I also want to apologize for the delayed update, I spent Tuesday with the Jonas Brothers as crazy as that sounds, instead of updating lol. 
> 
> thanks for all the kudos/comments/bookmarks! I know this story kind of sucks but it's also kind of fun to imagine things a little differently. It's just for fun!


	11. The Repetition of Family

Jon had very few things to say, understandably so, as they travelled. He seemed deep in thought, almost lost. The snow was getting worse with each passing moment and Alana felt guilty for breaking the silence and speaking up to ask if they had an actual destination in sight.

 

Jon then spoke for the first time in hours “It’s...less than ideal. But there’s a brothel in Mole’s Town. I can imagine it’ll be the only place we’d find shelter.” He sounded more grim than usual.

“There’s no shame in spending the night in a brothel.”

“There is if you were the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch”  
“And what of a Dornish noble woman?”  
“Alana, please.”

 

He sounded utterly exasperated, and she decided that responding was pointless. 

 

-

 

They arrived at the brothel in the middle of the night. Jon had covered Alana in his cloak, trying his best to hide her appearance. While no one knew who she was, a Dornish woman in a Mole’s Town brothel wasn’t exactly commonplace. Unfortunately, a Night’s Watch cloak was just as easy to spot as a Dornishwoman. They had both secretly hoped the patrons of the establishment were too drunk and aroused to notice.

She hated to admit that their chambers at the brothel were much more accommodating than those at Castle Black. The fire was large, hot, and roaring, as if to mock her, but the stone windows were draped in fine silks, the bed covered in thick furs, and a spread of food sat on a wooden table that made her mouth water. 

Jon typically couldn’t care less about where he slept, but in this moment he was extremely grateful Alana had come North with a purse filled with more money than he’d ever seen at once.

Once settled in, he threw himself on the bed rather dramatically and stripped down to nothing but his tunic and woolen leggings. He held the furs close to his face and said nothing, drinking in the rare feeling of temporary security.

“You must eat,” Alana began, bringing him a plate of cheese and fruit “it will make you strong.” She flashed a trying smile. 

He ate a few grapes and she watched him carefully for a moment, before turning to stare at the fire from a distance. She felt as if it were screaming at her to take a look. 

“You should look,” Jon mumbled, mouth full of food, reading her mind. She smirked at him for sounding so amusing, and reluctantly walked to the fire. She seemed to do anything he told her to.

 

“I see a young woman with red hair,” she began. Jon’s heart lurched. He didn’t want to think about Ygritte.

 

“She’s in long robes, her hair is in a braid,” she continued “she looks noble, but her dress has seen better days”

 

Jon exhaled an audible sigh of relief, knowing Alana wasn’t somehow seeing his past.

 

“She’s in the snow, traveling with quite a tall woman, armored, and a young man. It looks oddly like the road we traveled on tonight, but they’re facing the opposite way.”

 

She stepped away from the fire. 

 

“None of it ever makes sense until it happens” she said angrily, to no one. 

 

Jon racked his brain trying to think of the significance of the woman in the snow. It took him a moment, before it slapped him across the face.

 

“Sansa!” he exclaimed, and she wasn’t sure if it was with joy or fear “My sister.” he clarified.

 

She took Jon lightly by the hand and brought him to the fire, “Sometimes I can show others what I see. Look”

 

He looked and he saw. It was his sister Sansa, traveling North. She had been held captive at Winterfell with the Bolton’s, and Jon wondered what the hell she was doing so near to Mole’s Town.

 

“I should ride to her,” he spoke, jumping to his feet.

 

“Jon, you’re in no condition to ride any more, she is safe.” 

 

“And how do you know that?”

 

“I just do.”

 

He had no reason not to trust her, after all, she had done things he never imagined to be possible. 

 

“Just relax.” She said sweetly, following him to the bed. She pulled him close to her and nuzzled her nose into the side of his face. His heart was pounding. 

 

She trailed a soft hand over his tunic, listening to and cherishing the sounds of his soft breathing. Just days ago he had been dead. It didn’t make sense to her.

 

She slid a hand under his tunic and he grabbed her wrist, stopping her. She felt sick. 

 

He rolled over and pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck, and then another, and then another, until Alana’s hands had fisted themselves into his hair and away from his chest.

Gently, and excruciatingly slowly, Jon unlaced the back of Alana’s dress. She felt shy as if it were the first time, as she bared herself to him. 

 

He silently ran his hands all over her body, stopping to leave tender kisses wherever he desired. She reveled in the moment, grateful that his heart had not been lost the day it stopped beating.

 

“Alana,” he breathed into her neck as his hands found her breasts, “just give me time. I promise it won't always be like this.” His statement sent chills through her body. Hope, that their story wouldn’t end so soon, began to soothe her. She relaxed into his embrace and absentmindedly imagined a life with him as he continued to touch her. 

 

She had never prioritized love, or marriage, or anything like that. She dreamt of following her visions into battle, proving herself a warrior, or solving some ancient mystery. She certainly didn’t imagine herself falling in love with a man who had risen from the dead.

 

“You have all the time in the world, Jon. I will be here.” She caught herself saying.

 

“I love your accent,” he mused playfully “everything you say sounds so whimsical.”

 

“Even when I was threatening to kill you that one time?” 

 

“Even when you were threatening to kill me” he mumbled, gently kicking off his woolen leggings until he was in nothing but his tunic.

 

She smiled as she slowly snaked her way down his body. Feeling an entirely newfound sense of boldness, she gently squeezed his cock as she lowered her mouth onto it. He gasped, not exactly expecting it, and Alana had to hold his hips down for her own sake. 

She delicately swirled her tongue around his tip, drunk on the careless whimpers that left his mouth. The sounds were excruciatingly pleasant. 

“Gods, Alana” he managed to eventually choke out as she continued to bob up and down on his cock lovingly. 

Something in her stirred and she realized how much she loved shocking him, surprising him, and making him feel good in ways he’s never known before.

She licked a broad stripe on the underside of his cock and she knew he would lose it in a moment if she didn’t stop. She sucked down his length once more before releasing him. 

He whimpered disappointingly as she slid back up his body, kissing him with a passionate intensity. 

She slid her hand beneath his tunic a second time and he removed her hand again, gently this time. She then gave up, figuring he needed time. 

 

She climbed on top of him, and nearly cried at how sweet the feeling of his cock against her entrance was. She rubbed herself against him impishly, not satisfying the fire ignited in either of them.

 

“I hope it still works” Jon teased, flashing a smile for the first time since he’d come back. 

 

She slowly sunk down on him, memorizing the feeling, before slowly rocking against him. Her hands were on his shoulders and his on her waist, and Alana felt as if this were the way things were supposed to be. 

 

His eyes were shut tight, head hanging back as she continued to ride him, all the while whispering sweet nothings into his ear, repeatedly driving him to the edge before slowing down. 

 

“Trying to kill me a second time?” He breathed out the question, feeling more chatty than usual.

 

“Not funny” she murmured, nibbling on his earlobe, feeling herself near her climax.

 

She went to make another comment, but before she could, Jon flipped her over and gently fucked her until she could no longer stand it. He was careful to pull out of her before spilling, but something in her had wished he hadn’t.

 

They laid there in a sweaty, contented heap. 

 

“I love you, Jon,” She whispered into his ear, so low she barely heard herself say it. Goosebumps raked her body as she realized just how much she meant it, to the point where she was almost embarrassed about it.

 

Jon’s heart fluttered. No one had ever said that to him before. He knew Ygritte had loved him but she had never said the words aloud.

 

He looked at her for a moment, and everything he had kept building in the deepest part of him began to spill over into reality. He loved her too. He knew it the night she followed him into his chambers and drank his wine by the light of the fire. He knew it when he saw her leaning out of the tower, watching him, before he left for Hardhome, and he knew it when she was the first face he’d seen after coming back from the dead.

 

“I love you too, Alana.” He said firmly, matter-of-factly. For the first time since she’d met him, he sounded sure of something. 

 

She held him tight, refusing to let him go, as she kissed his chest gently through his tunic. She felt his heart pound, and she knew that sometimes even the protector needed to be protected.

 

Jon leaned over, feeling re-invigorated with his life, ready to go again. Alana stopped him, “Listen”

 

She crawled off the bed, dragging Jon with her, as they stood close to the door, hearing sound in the hall for the first time all night. 

 

_ “My Lady, we shouldn’t be here” “Where should you have us go, then?” “The Lady is right, My Lady, we’ll be trapped in the snow if we don’t rest now” _

 

Jon rushed across the room, pulling his leggings on quickly before swinging open the door.

 

Alana, shocked, dove into the bed, covering herself in the furs.

 

“Sansa,” Jon spoke, shocked, as he opened the door to see his sister. It had been years since he had last seen her, and he wasn’t sure if this was reality or something Alana had manifested from the flames.

 

“Jon?” She asked confusedly, dropping her belongings in shock. 

 

He instantly realized the awkward misunderstanding and tried to explain, but he had no real words.   
  


“I’m not a patron of...this establishment. Just here for shelter.” He managed to say.

 

Sansa eyed him wordlessly, her companions just as stunned as she. 

 

“What about the Wall?” 

 

“It’s a long story.”

 

Before they had the chance to awkwardly stare at each other again, she ran into his arms.

 

Jon held Sansa tightly against him. All this time he had believed he would never see his family again.

 

“I don’t want to disturb this reunion, but we should not be standing out here in the hall, any of us.” The tall woman spoke, her hand resting on the hilt of a very elaborate longsword. Her armor was impressive and had she not been a woman, he’d believe her to be a Knight. Jon had never  _ really _ understood why women could not be knighted, he knew a great many women who were more brave than a majority of the men he had known.

 

Jon cracked the door to his chambers to see Alana fully dressed once more. She raised her eyebrows at him and all he could do was chuckle at the situation. 

 

“Well, for the time being, come in.” Jon said shyly, looking once again at the tall women. 

 

“I am Brienne of Tarth, this is my squire Podrick.” 

 

Jon smiled confusedly, “Are you a knight then?”

 

“No, he just really wanted to be a squire.” Brienne said, and Jon was glad she had a sense of humor. 

 

Jon allowed entrance to Brienne, Podrick, and Sansa who was incredibly surprised to find that Jon had a companion with him. 

 

All he could do was blush. 

 

“This is Lady Alana...Blackmont.” He introduced shyly.

 

“Martell” she corrected, and Jon looked at her incredulously. “I trust your sister.”

 

Jon, still displaying his signature incredulous expression, half-smiled at the sentiment. 

 

Sansa, incredibly confused by everything happening around her, introduced herself kindly to Alana.

 

“Lady Sansa, forgive me for the confusion,” Sansa smiled at her accent “your brother rescued me near the Wall.”

 

Sansa raised her eyebrows “And you two are...friends now?” 

 

Jon chuckled uncomfortably. The bed was a mess and the rest of Jon’s clothing was scattered across the floor.

 

“Well,” Sansa began, the hint of a smile creeping onto her face “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly Jon and Sansa being reunited at a brothel just seemed like way more fun than at Castle Black lmao. 
> 
> Things should be...interesting after this.
> 
> ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!!


	12. Leather, Lace, and the Colors of My Husband's House

Brienne of Tarth and her pseudo-squire said their goodbyes moments later. After briefly meeting Alana and Jon, they retired to their own rooms. 

 

Alana, amidst the chaos, found humor in the idea of five people with various forms of noble upbringing taking shelter in a Mole’s Town brothel.

 

“So...let me get this straight” Sansa began, for the fifth time that evening. It was nearing the early hours of dawn, but Sansa was not satisfied with the information she had been given. “You were actually dead.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“And Lady Martell--Alana used...magic...to bring you back?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“That’s fucking insane, Jon.” 

 

He rolled his eyes, clearly uncomfortable with the repeated discussion of the subject matter.

 

“I like your sister” Alana said through cheeky grin. 

 

Sansa looked over to Alana and smiled as well.

 

Jon continued to feel completely stunned by everything that had happened to him since meeting Alana. He felt as if an entire lifetime had come and gone in that time, and in a way, it had. He found it extremely difficult to be emotionally present.

 

Now, sitting face to face with his sister, he recognized the reality of the situation before them, and his inability to come up with a solution. Seeing Sansa made his reality just that.

 

The last time he had seen Sansa she was a petulant young girl with a desire to be queen. Now, standing before him, she seemed jaded. He wanted to ask her about what she had endured during their separation, but he had a feeling he didn’t want to know.

 

Sansa had then explained the reason they had taken shelter in the brothel was because they had been riding to the Wall, in search of Jon. 

 

His heart, or whatever was left of it, felt full. 

 

“Well, I suppose we can’t return to Winterfell then.” Jon spoke soberly.

 

“Not with the Bolton’s still there, but we need somewhere to strategize and I really don’t see myself taking up residence in a brothel” Sansa said, rolling her eyes at the sounds permeating the walls. 

 

“I agree with Sansa,” Alana began, “but Winter  _ is  _ coming. We have to move fast.”

 

“Spoken like a true Northerner,” Jon teased sarcastically, and Sansa was happy to see a smile on his face “but I don’t see another option besides riding back to the Wall.”

 

“That is out of the question, Jon.” Alana said flatly.

 

“Then what do you suppose we do, Lady Martell.” Jon was exhausted and hated his inability to control his tone. 

 

Alana chose to ignore the comment and instead direct her attention to the flames, seeking help from her least favorite source.

 

Sansa watched intently, both afraid of the Dornishwoman and extremely interested, much like her brother had been when he first met her.

 

Alana pulled away from the flames with a grim expression “If we fight, there will be mass casualties” Jon yanked at his hair anxiously as she spoke, “the Bolton’s must be killed. If they are killed, their men will have no one to fight for. It’s clear as day that their men will have no desire to avenge them. Their men want order in the North.”

 

“And you know all of this from the fire?” Sansa was stunned. 

 

“I could show you”

 

“I’ll take your word for it” 

 

The three sat in silence for a moment. Jon raked his fingers through his wiry beard until he was able to produce an idea.

 

“I’ll ride for Winterfell then, I’ll kill the Bolton fucker myself” 

 

“You won’t win,” Sansa began “you may be more skilled them him, but you’ll fall into some trap. Plus the Northmen know you.”

 

“They don’t know me” Alana mused, brandishing her dagger.

 

“Absolutely not” Jon retorted immediately, much to Alana’s chagrin.

 

“We’ll go undercover Jon, you’ll protect me from a distance. I’ll play the damsel in distress and seduce him into vulnerability.” 

 

Sansa’s eyes were wide. She hated the fact that this extremely dangerous plan could work. Ramsay was an extremely skilled killer who specialized in torture, but at the end of the day, he was still just a man; always thinking with his cock.

 

Sansa recognized instantly, upon meeting her, the rare beauty that Alana possessed. Dornish women were said to be the most beautiful women in the Seven Kingdoms and she understood why. 

 

Jon was having absolutely none of it. 

 

“Jon, think about it. You could be there to oversee everything.”    
  
“Absolutely not, Sansa. You expect me to send her into what you escaped?” 

 

“I can speak for myself,” Alana interrupted, “and it’s the only way. Jon, we’ll disguise you. We’ll shave you and get you Bolton armor. You know Winterfell through and through. I’ll play stupid until I have him close enough. I have my dagger, you’ll have Longclaw.”

 

He kept shaking his head. The plan, in theory, sounded great. However, Jon knew the likelihood of it succeeding was slim, and he refused to use Alana as collateral in exchange for the building he grew up in, even though he knew it was more complex than that.

 

“Alana,” Jon began, signature hint of exasperation lingering, “you hardly know us. I don’t want you risking your life for us.”

 

She looked up at him incredulously “Jon, what if this is why my visions brought me here? What if helping you to take back Winterfell is my mission?”

 

He shook his head and kicked the wall with the toe of his boot.

 

Sansa didn’t say anything. She knew this discussion could only be had between Alana and Jon. It was funny, to Sansa, seeing her brother like this. Growing up, she had been horrible to him, constantly. She found him to be bitter, arrogant, and selfish, though now she recognized that she may as well have been describing her former self. This Jon was different. He seemed exceptionally selfless and compassionate, possibly to his detriment.

 

Alana walked over to Jon and tenderly placed a hand on his shoulder, “Come on, Jon” she lifted his hand and pressed a kiss to his fingers, “please let me help.”

 

He said nothing, looking to Sansa, who nodded. 

 

He looked back at Alana and stared into her eyes for a moment. He studied her eyes, wanting to be sure that this is what she wanted to do, and it seemed so. He held her face in his hands as he finally conceded. 

 

Sansa was shocked, but silently thrilled. She had a gut feeling that this plan would work. 

  
  


-

 

Alana waited for Jon to fall asleep before slipping out of the room. She had made eye contact with a woman earlier who worked at the establishment, and now desired to speak with her. 

She wished she didn’t know as much about brothels as she did, but her parents frequently followed the never-ending epicurean pursuit of pleasure, and she found herself learning a few things.

The woman she had made eye contact with was a seamstress. She sewed the garments for the women working and patched up the clothing of the patrons that had been torn in a moment of lust. 

Finding her was the easy part, lying convincingly was the hard part. 

 

“Madame, my name is Elysia Cerwyn” she lied “my husband, Lord Edwin Cerwyn and I were traveling to Winterfell to pledge our allegiance to Lord Bolton when the storm hit. Our clothes were destroyed on our ride as you can see, and I was hoping to ask you to create new garments for us. You’ll be paid immediately, in full, of course.” She opened her purse to the woman and prayed that her northern accent was believable.

 

For a moment, the woman eyed Alana suspiciously before speaking up “You have the loveliest skin, dear. Not at all like we tend to see in the North.”

 

Alana laughed uncomfortably, “Oh, my mother was from Volantis. I take after her.”

 

The older woman smiled as she accepted the payment “I’ll have these for you in a few days. Any requests?”

 

Alana spoke nervously, “You see, Lord Bolton is not a fan of waiting, and I was hoping to have the garments by tomorrow evening.”

 

The older woman eyed the coin purse before responding, “I have heard about Lord Bolton...I’ll have them to you tomorrow…”

 

Alana excitedly handed the woman a gold piece as she gave the seamstress their measurements. She felt whimsical for a moment, and verbally designed the Northern dress of her dreams for herself. She made sure the Cerwyn coat of arms decorated the garments to be worn by Jon, informing the woman how devoted to his house her husband was. 

 

As she exited, she breathed a sigh of relief. Jon continuously underestimated her, and she wanted to show him how serious she was, even if it resulted in grave danger. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for updating less frequently, I write at work and I've actually had work to do this week haha. 
> 
> From here on out, don't rely on the canon because I'm changing everything! 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	13. Baby Faces and Strange Places

“You look like a very sleepy child” Alana decided, stroking Jon’s newly clean-shaven face.  He tried to fight off a smile as he rolled his eyes, “You did this to me, no complaints now.” 

 

She swept his hair gently into a neat bun as she spoke through a smile, “I’m not complaining. Now I can kiss you without my face looking as if it were scratched by the hide of a bear.” 

 

“Very funny,” Jon mumbled, reaching for his new clothing and fingering the Cerwyn insignia “I feel like a traitor to my house.”

 

Now it was now her turn to roll her eyes as she helped him into his Cerwyn garb. He did look quite handsome in the new clothing, and amidst the nervousness and fear, she was girlishly excited for him to see her in her new dress. 

 

She slipped behind the room divider and proceeded to slip into her new dress. Not only was it much warmer than the previous one she’d been dressed in, but it was beautiful as well. The fabric was dark grey and patterned with snowflakes up the sides. The bodice was a lighter shade of grey with elegant black laces. She looked like a proper Northwoman. 

 

Pushing the divider aside, she twirled around in the new dress, playfully curtsying before Jon.

 

“Thoughts?” She asked Jon impishly. 

 

“If I told you my thoughts right now you wouldn’t think me proper.” 

 

She shook her head and laughed “Not bad, then?”

 

“Not bad at all” he replied, his voice low as a whisper as he grabbed her hand and pulled her close to him. 

 

“I love you, Jon. And I know you’re unhappy about this arrangement, but I promise I won’t go and get myself killed.”

 

“You can’t make that promise.” He mumbled into her hair, breathing in the scent as he held her against him.

 

“Just because you went and got yourself murdered doesn’t mean I will.” She joked, hoping,  _ praying _ it wouldn’t offend him. 

 

Thankfully, he let out a hearty laugh. 

 

“Oh sure, let’s all gang up on the man who got murdered.”

 

“Next person to murder you is going to die by  _ my _ hand.”

 

“Let’s try and hope there is no next time” he chuckled.

 

“I’ll just bring you back again, i’m pretty magical, you know.” She teased.

 

He raised his eyebrows “Oh yeah? Can you turn yourself into a doormouse so you can slip into Winterfell with ease?” 

 

“I was starting to think you hadn’t changed since coming back from the dead, but it appears that you’re funny now.”

 

Jon flashed a wide smile and opened his mouth to surely say something clever but was interrupted by a knock at the door. 

 

Alana left Jon alone to giggle like a child on the bed as she opened the door to find Sansa, who was smiling as well. 

 

“Lady Stark,” she smiled “it appears everyone is in a good mood today.” 

 

“We’re ready to kick some Bolton ass, that’s why.” She shrugged casually, joining Jon on the edge of the bed. 

 

His smile faded at her sentence. He’d nearly forgotten. 

 

“Cheer up, Snow” Sansa smiled, grabbing his face with her hand and shaking it childishly. He pretended to pout, but it was nice to finally have a relationship with his sister. “You look like a baby with no beard.”

 

“So i’ve been told.”

 

As Sansa continued to make fun of him, Podrick, the squire entered the room. “The horses are saddled and your...wolf is...ready to go.” 

 

Alana laughed at his obvious fear of the Direwolf. 

 

Jon sighed and threw the sack with his and Alana’s belongings over his shoulder.

 

They were silent as they slipped out of the brothel. The lighthearted fun had unfortunately come to an end, and the journey to Winterfell had begun. 

 

As they mounted their horses, it became a little more than obvious that Jon was still weak, and it began to make Alana incredibly nervous. She started to realize that Jon wasn’t afraid of Alana’s ability to defend herself, he was afraid of his own. 

  
  


\--

 

The first day of riding was fine. The snow had let up and shelter was easy to find. Everyone seemed pleasant except for Jon. His nerves were getting the best of him and the amount of riding was already taking a toll on him. Alana could sense that he was not okay, but he refused to show the weakness he felt.

 

She almost hated him for it. 

 

“Maybe we should stop and rest for a bit” Alana suggested toward the end of day two. Every time she looked over at Jon the expression on his face grew more sour and she couldn’t stand to look at it anymore. 

 

“There’s no time.” He responded as sourly as he looked.

 

“Well _I_ need to rest.” She replied, equally sour, doing him a favor without hurting his ego. 

 

He looked to the sky frustratedly, and slowed his horse. 

 

Alana smirked. 

 

They made camp in the woods, right off the Kingsroad. It wasn’t the safest location, but who was Jon to argue with Alana? He knew he’d never win, and he knew he desperately needed a break. 

 

As Alana slept comfortably beside him in the small, yet somehow warm tent, Jon stared at nothing. Unable to sleep, he watched her, wondering what she was dreaming about, and truly hoping she wouldn’t do anything stupid when they arrived. He trusted her implicitly, but he was still unsure if she truly knew what she was up against. Maybe she’d have some dream telling her everything would be fine and that they’d succeed, but she always made it seem as if her dreams rarely made any sense. 

 

He lifted a sore arm from beneath his warm blanket to touch her face, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps outside. 

 

He held his breath as the footsteps drew nearer. Maybe it was Sansa, she liked the nighttime. 

 

As the footsteps drew closer, he could tell they came from more than one person. He reached across the tent for his sword and leaned closer to the canvas flap. As soon as he heard voices, he gently drew his sword from its sheath; the sound woke Alana. 

 

“Jon” she whispered, her voice thick with sleep. 

 

_“Hush”_ he said sharply, motioning for her to draw her own weapon. 

 

She did as instructed and watched intently as Jon drew the curtain open slightly.

 

Within seconds, a man had a blade to Jon’s throat. He immediately looked to Alana who had since hidden her dagger beneath the folds of her nightgown. 

 

_ “Search the tent, take the girl if you like” _ the man with the blade to Jon’s throat spoke, motioning to someone outside her field of vision.

 

“Now why is it that everyone suggests taking the girl?” Alana spoke up casually, watching Jon’s eyes widen as if to say  _ “What the hell is wrong with you?” _

 

At the sound of her voice, the other man entered the tent, rummaging through all of Jon and Alana’s belongings. The man with the blade to Jon’s throat maintained eye contact with Alana. 

 

The other man leaned over Alana to go through her bag, and as he did so, she grabbed his dagger from it’s hilt and slashed his throat with it. The man holding Jon captive instantly let him go and lunged at Alana, who then, effortlessly, sank her own dagger into his neck. 

 

“Are you all right, my love?” Alana asked, wiping her bloodied hands on her nightgown; a sickeningly sweet smile on her face.

 

“Uh huh” he mumbled incredulously, shaking his head. 

 

“This probably wasn’t the best place to set up camp” she conceded. 

 

“You think?” Jon said in astonishment, before looking in disgust at the bloodied bodies laying atop their makeshift bed.

 

“Go check on Sansa, i’ll deal with this.”

 

Jon nodded, still in disbelief, and went to check on Sansa and the others, who miraculously were still asleep.

 

Alana dragged the bodies out of her tent and instructed Ghost to drag them farther away from their camp. She was continuously amazed at his ability to understand commands.

 

“I guess I don’t give you enough credit.” Jon sighed, sitting next to Alana who was now sat by the fire outside. 

 

She feigned a laugh as she leaned her head on his shoulder. It was freezing, but the fire was warm, and so was Jon. 

 

“I got myself captured once on this expedition, I’ll be damned if I let it happen again.”

 

“Next time, can we listen to me when I say it’s not the right time to stop for evening?” Jon asked exasperatedly. 

 

“If I keep listening to you, you’re going to end up falling off your horse. You have to go easy, Jon. Especially if we want this mission to succeed.” 

 

He knew she loved him.

 

“There’s no winning with you, is there?” He said, hiding a smile. 

“Absolutely not. Now, let’s find somewhere else to sleep. You need your rest.” She placed a tender kiss to the side of his head before getting up and walking away. She had to remain calm. She refused to let him feel how hard she was shaking. 

 

Though her heroic actions seemed casual, she had still been afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short little update for you all! Sorry for the serious delay in getting this chapter up, I was on vacation! I'm back now and hoping to have the next chapter up in a day or two <3
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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